Robb Stark, The Lord Stranger
by Bethuny
Summary: Robb Stark survived the Red Wedding but just barely. With little to cling to and little to live for, he takes a different route unexpected for Ned Stark's son but sees his power and influence grow. Will he regain his throne and get justice for his family, or will he fall deep into the rouge's life.
1. Chapter 1

To those who are reading fans of my Harry potter series, this is obviously not it. That story is not abandoned, for a while I completely lost ineptest in harry Potter shortly before I had dive into work and schooling. Then, I wrote fifteen chapters straight that I had planned to release all at once along with this story and then lost the USB I was keeping it all in.

I will update that story, most definitely this month or the next if I can, so it is not abandoned. Just have to rewrite chapters that I had already written before.

Just want everyone to know that I'm more of a fan of the TV series than the books, thus my knowledge is limited to the TV series. Even then, there are a lot of details that I do not know and so sadly there might be a lot of places and characters that are completely new but probably exist as something else already. I gain more insight when reading books than watching TV shows.

Also, I'm no George Martin and thus the odds of this being close to what he can do are slim.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Game of Thrones nor A Song of Ice and Fire**

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**CHAPTER 1- The Stranger**

The crunching of dead leaves beneath the 15 men was an almost welcome sound, or rather it would have been had they not worried about giving away their position. It might have been a while since the end of the war and the Red Wedding massacre, but Frey, Bolton and Lannister men still patrolled these parts, searching for any surviving Northmen who didn't belong.

This group was not made of northmen; they had been born and raised in the south. They had no allegiance but to themselves, it was rare to meet bandits who still held bonds and attachments to their homelands.

The war had been god for them in equal parts as it was shit. The confusion of battle allowed them to pick off any foolish soldiers dumb enough to wander off into the woods unaided by at least five others. They lived like scavengers sometimes, disguising themselves as medics and looting off the corpses of battle.

Some of their numbers had new shiny swords, swords not found among those of their kind. Ordinarily at least.

The war had also proved troublesome however, soldiers fighting for their lives didn't tend to appreciate rogue men taking from them and the brothers in arms that they'd lost, and the commanders and generals tended to be even stricter against rogues. So it almost became a game for the soldiers, or at least some form of exercise, hunting and killing bandits in the woods.

The Gentlemen of the Rivers, that's what the current grouping currently called itself. Their name changed with each new kingdom they ended up in, Gentlemen of the Rivers now, Gentlemen of the Snow, Gentlemen of the Hill, Gentlemen of Flowers.

It was perhaps some subconscious code of theirs, some deep down way that they found to mock the bastards of wherever they found themselves. If they had one thing that was theirs, it was their names. They were no bastards at the least.

"W'e f'ond tr'cks tha' a' way Lor' Gent'le. No' su'r be solideirs or or no'." Spoke **Petter the Dumbmouth**, a mousy little fellow who could blend in with any color and disappear into the smallest of thickets. He was a great scout and hunter, probably one of the best in all the seven kingdoms. He did however have a few overgrown teeth that seemed to weigh quite heavily on the lad. He had the habit of taking breathing breaks before finishing his words.

"How many?" asked the gruff voice of the Lord Gentle, the proud man who currently held the position of power in the band. A small and meaningless title perhaps, but every man who joined the band dreamt of gaining that position. Gaining that position meant to have first choice and first refusal of everything. It meant that you chose how to divide and who to divide to.

Most Lord Gentles of the past chose to divide best among a select few chosen, build their own core group of protection within the band. Others chose to divide fairly and equally among the men, to have no favorites, these tended to last long, until some member suddenly decides that they are not satisfied with getting fare rations and would much rather be the divider instead.

This current Lord Gentle had won his seat through fair conquest, once the mightiest of their fighters, he lead a small section of men who specialized on defeating the more seasoned victims. Then he'd grown a tad more ambitious and challenged the Lord Gentle to a duel.

"One, Lord Gentle, moving slowly by my guess, he is probably tired or perhaps even hurt. I may have seen a few drops of blood but those could have been an animal or not blood at all." Answered **Lonn**, a man of average height, average appearance and sadly average intelligence. Lonn was the type of man who could so easily move through the world without much notice if any. He was nearly invisible sometimes. Which made him a great scout.

"How far from him are we?" The Lord Gentle asked.

"Not far, we should come by him very soon." Came the answer. For their own sakes, they had better hope that very soon really meant very soon, otherwise there would be consequences.

Lucky for them, it wasn't long before they came across the stranger, huddled up in a thicket of trees, shivering like a wet dog.

He looked half dead already, his clothes covered with dried blood, his hair wet with blood and sweat and his body had gone pale form either shock, cold or loss of blood. He shoes were worn out, proof that he'd been walking on them for a while. His nails were uncut and long, black form the dirt that had gotten under. Proof that he'd spent a lot of time on the ground.

The large facial hair made his face nearly impossible to properly make out, and the hair was either red or brown depending on where you looked. None of them could have guessed what kingdom he hailed from, his features far too obstructed.

"Can you get up stranger, we are bandits come to rob you, can you fight back?" The Lord Gentle was a mighty warrior, but he didn't exactly get to power with any excellent thinking skills. He might have sacrificed some brain power for his brawn.

The stranger however just continued with his shivering, showing no sign whatsoever of having heard the fairly kind and reasonable question directed at him.

"Friend, we're about to rob and perhaps even kill you, can you fight back?" This time it was the Lord Gentle's hand that asked the question, a fellow by the name of **Gulf**. If there was one man in the band who could take the Lord Gentle fair and square with a guaranteed victory it was Gulf. The man was large, not just in height but muscle as well. He looked like he could bend metal with hands and shatter swords between his teeth.

He was, sadly, an absolute idiot. That was why he was the Lord Gentle's hand, he was too dumb to usurp but too powerful to allow anyone else to keep close enough to manipulate.

The stranger said nothing, even after the fair enquiries. He just kept on shivering.

* * *

Rob Stark's head hurt, more so perhaps than even his chest or hand. The cut on his hand was close to completely closing, but the hand was still swollen from what had to be some infection that he never managed to remove. The wounds in his chest where the crossbow bolts had pierced him were already closed, but they always stung whenever it got cold.

His head though, that had been a plague upon him for a while now. A plague that would only lessen with sleep, and then the dreams would begin. He loved those dreams. He always felt free in them. He longed for them each day.

The large beard and long hair bothered him; sometimes he feared that he might have lice. But he would not dare shave, lest someone saw him and finally recognized him. It's why he was still in the Riverlands, whey he hadn't headed north where he could hideout and recuperate in peace. He was a coward, too afraid to go back home and take it back from those who stole it.

Too tired to strike at those who had betrayed him and slaughtered his men, wife and mother. Even as he sometimes observed Frey and Lannister men, he still couldn't muster the will to strike them down.

He was in one of his binges that night, those times where he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, just as he always had when he was still King in the North. Only this time he was not the great Young Wolf, now he was a broken and crippled pup, a pup who had dared bare its teeth against a veteran lion and he had been rudely disabused.

He'd found a nice place to sleep, out in the trees and among the stars. The cold didn't bother him, he may have been used to the summer but the North summer might as well be a frozen wasteland compared to the south.

The dreams were once more upon him, he was soaring above the clouds today, speeding through the dark skies like a god who watches over the land. It didn't matter that her knew deep down that he was smaller than any men, didn't matter that his body was fairly fragile, what mattered was that he was flying, and only gods could possibly fly unaided.

He surveyed over the land, stared down the Riverlands and screeched a mighty rage at the sight of the twins. The men bellow looked up in surprise and alarm. But they couldn't see him. He was up amongst the clouds. But he could see them just fine, he could see them perfectly. He was a god of course, an old god of the skies themselves.

He was still enjoying the wind blowing through his brown feathers when he began to hear voices. They were indistinct and hollow, as though coming down a long jagged tunnel, bouncing off the walls and scraping against the ridges before reaching him.

The voices kept speaking, not understanding that he wished for solitude, ignoring his desire for peace. They were beginning to annoy him. And so were the images that kept flashing in front of him like visions, visions of men walking towards him with drawn swords, a few of those swords were pitted and rusted, while some were in acceptable conditions, their blades catching the lights of the stars and moon.

He could hear the men more clearly now, they spoke of death and violence, against him. It was preposterous, he was a god, and how dare they threaten him. Still flying, still soaring, still an old god of the skies, he bared his talons and charged them.

* * *

The first man to reach the stranger was Bawen, a fella of great courage who was always one of the first for any job. This time Bawen drew his sword and advanced for the stranger's throat. Not to cut it of course, not unless the stranger refused to cooperate.

Bawen, courageous Bawen, was the first to die that night. It happened almost instantaneously, nearly too fast for even the Lord Gentle to follow. One second the stranger was shivering on the ground with his eyes closed, the next he was on his knees, his sword so gracefully piercing Bawen's stout stomach.

The stranger seemed to float to his feet, beyond graceful now, almost as though the wind simply lift him up itself.

Corich was the next closest man, the stranger glided towards him, graceful as a swan then suddenly violent as an enraged eagle. Corich blocked the first strike, aimed at his stomach, but the next tore his throat open, too fast for him to block again.

Next was Almond and Dagmer, these two The Stranger charged at once, his sword was a blur as it moved between the two men, striking once twice, thrice, then moving to the next while the former reeled from the cuts he sustained in effort to of defense.

One, two, the first blow took Dagmer in the knee, the second cut through is throat before the scream of pain could even escape his mouth. Almond was still staggering back, eyes wide open in pure fright. The rest of the band was hardly any better.

The Stranger advanced upon Almond in that way he moved, as though unaware of the ground beneath his feet. In an instant he was upon Almond. First strike attempted to take the tall rogue's head, but he blocked on what to be pure instinct, the second would have open his gut, but he somehow managed to dodge that, again pure reflex, the next went for his right eye, so he raised his sword to defend, but it was a feint. The Stranger seemed to have already figured out that Almond couldn't keep up and was merely using reflexive instinct, so he tricked him into one way then the changed direction smoothly without blemishing form, cutting right down Almond's body.

The Stranger was already walking away from the rogue even before he fell.

"FORM UP. FORM UP. FORM UP NOW." The Lord Gentle bellowed, nearly mindless with fright and panic. He'd never seen anyone move that way, not even in the training grounds before he was dishonorably discharged and shamed, forced into work as nothing but a common bandit.

But his men didn't form up, instead then tripped over each other in their effort to flee. He was soon left alone on a small space between trees, facing The Stranger who moved like an agent of death, an agent come to collect a bounty.

"COME THEN, COME MEET YOUR DOOOOOO…" The Lord Gentle swung his sword first, that strike was parried and he fell into a natural rhythm that allowed him to move with the parried swing and strike once more for The Stranger's neck, that too was parried and he had to tilt his own head to avoid his throat being opened up.

They moved back and forth, exchanging fierce blows that would have lived on in the stories of rogue bands. But it was clear to all who the victor would be; the Lord Gentle was barely avoiding grievous injuries but was taking small cuts with almost every exchange.

The Stranger advanced with a quick combination, two shots for the abdomen, two for the head, one more the abdomen, another for the head and finally one that cut the right knee open.

The Lord Gentle screamed in pain, almost dropping his sword. He pulled upon whatever reserves he had left and used his own combo, but as he swung for the stranger's neck, the man disappeared from sight and was suddenly right beside the Lord Gentle with his sword right through the rogue leader's heart.

No sound escaped the latest Lord Gentle's lips as he toppled over; death was too swift for him.

* * *

Robb Stark wasn't too sure how he came to be with a bloody sword and dead men around him. His mind was a hazy mess and his bones felt like they were melting; it was all he could do not to topple over.

His loss was thus inevitable when the large beast of a man advanced upon him, swinging his battered sword like a club.

Robb had no choice but to block, he didn't have the energy or the capability at the moment to evade. The large sword slamming against his sent tremors up his arms and nearly fell him. He allowed the momentum of the blow to carry him out of the little giant's range.

But quicker than he would have expected; the large man was once more upon him. This time Robb was expecting the force behind the blow, so he mustered whatever strength he could to duck under the blow and deliver a strong blow of his own on the man's arm.

Sadly, he didn't have the power to cut the arm off, but he did manage to crack some bones and cut deep. The small giant roared in pain and dropped his sword.

Seeing his chance, Robb struck for the man's exposed neck, putting the whole force of his body and momentum to grant him the strength he currently did not possess. Only, it didn't work.

Again surprising him with his absurd speed for his gait, the large man turned and planted his two palms on either side of Robb's sword, stopping him in his tracks.

* * *

Gulf had to commend The Strangers fighting ability. He never really considered himself an expert swordsman; he always relied mostly on his size to do the work. But he could always tell that the Lord Gentle was a good swordsman, as was expected from a former career soldier.

Yet The Stranger had proved he even better. It was perhaps luck then that the killings had weakened him too much to be able to put up a proper fight against Gulf himself. Though his left forearm was cut open and the bone cracked, he managed to ignore the pain long enough to stop the blow that would have opened up his neck.

As fast as he was capable, and with as much force as he could muster with his injured arm, he struck out with his fist and landed a great punch across The Stranger's face.

The man toppled over, dropping his sword as he did. This allowed Gulf to reach down, lift him up with both arms over his head; and then slam him against the nearest tree. The tree shook with the impact, and The Stranger didn't move or make a sound again.

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I am posting four chapters at once today, might post more next week or instead post chapters of my Harry Potter story.

Hope you enjoy, **Read and Review**.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice ****and Fire**

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**CHAPTER 2- Stupid and Dangerous Alliances**

The hard man reading the letter which could not possibly be described as anything more than mindless dribbles was not amused. One does not make a beneficial deal with Tywin Lannister and not expect endless service and payment, which was simply the price of gaining power through the means of Lannisters.

No, what annoyed Roose Bolton the most was that he was forced to share that favor from Tywin with the Late Lord Frey. The old man was a cowardly snake who didn't seem satisfied with what he'd been given. Or rather he was incapable of controlling the land he owned and desperately sought assistance from others. Calling in favors of Roose Bolton as though the Warden of the North owed Walder Frey anything.

Roose was almost willing to march down to the Trident and remind Walder Frey that the Tullys had declared Robb their king, and as the usurper of Robb Stark, Roose Bolton had all his lands, including the Riverlands. He did not think Tywin would appreciate him calling himself King though, so he had no choice but to halt his desires.

Still, sometimes he would gaze into the fire and see himself accomplishing more than Robb Stark ever did, sometimes he had the urge to prove to the remaining northern lords and those of the south that he was no lesser than the Young Wolf. To prove that he took charge not because he lacked honor and loyalty; but because he was better and the embarrassment of bowing to a boy had become too much.

But in those days he would remember that Tywin Lannister was not a man to be trifled with, he would remember that the Lannisters now boast the might of the Reach as well. The two wealthiest families and kingdoms bound by marriage spelled trouble for any fool dumb enough to challenge them.

He would have to prove himself in other ways. If he had been able to overthrow the Starks, he would be foolish to believe the other lords didn't see a possibility of overthrowing the Boltons.

Another part of him though, one he was always careful to hide from any, was his worry about the Young Wolf. This worry he shared with Walder Frey and that only increased the anxiety that came with keeping such a dangerous secret.

Walder Frey couldn't be trusted with such a secret; the old man might speak of it to one of his sons, or wives or even a passerby stranger. Who knew how that mind worked?

He dreaded to think what the Lannister would do when they found out that Robb Stark may be alive. What would the remaining Lords of the North do when they learned that the king they'd sworn themselves to still drew breath?

At times he firmly believed, as Frey did, that Robb Stark was indeed dead. That he hadn't survived his injuries in the Red Wedding. Sometimes he accepted that the Young Wolf somehow managed to sneak away but then later died sometime after.

But Bolton men, those few he'd left behind, had been searching for weeks and still no sign of the Young Wolf.

Roose still remembered his arm around the Young Wolf, remembered his blade cutting his throat open. Then remembered the shock and cold when he didn't find the Young Wolf's body later on. When he suddenly realized that, perhaps it was something else that he cut, that the Young Wolf had his hand up, reaching for the blade just as he used it. That in his excitement and elation, he may have overlooked that and instead chose to delude himself in his victory.

It was Walder Frey's idea to sew the direwolf's head into a body that resembled the King of the North. It was too symbolic an action for anyone to doubt who the body belonged to. In the meantime Roose would leave a few men, trusted men, behind to assist in patrolling the Riverlands under the guise of searching for remaining northenmen when in truth they searched for Robb Stark.

Nothing so far of course, but there had already been reports of some of his men simply disappearing along with Frey men. This might have been bandits or perhaps remaining loyalists or the men had found better ways to make money and deserted. It could also mean that they had found the Young Wolf and fell to his might.

Roose discarded the letter from the Lord of the Riverlands into the fires, and focused his mind on the more serious one. News from one of his men in the Riverlands; they had discovered what had to be a battle ground, four bodies remained and none of them Robb Stark. The bodies were stripped of all valuables but his men deduced them to be bandits.

If Robb Stark had come across bandits and won it could mean that he was now in a state of physicality that he could reveal himself to the world. If he had lost and died, his body would still be there, stripped of all valuables. If he'd lost but survived the fight, then the bandits would soon seek to sell him to the highest bidder. Naturally that meant the Lannisters. Naturally that meant Tywin learning the big secret that the lords of the North and Riverlands were so eager to keep hidden.

Roose didn't fear Tywin marching his armies north against him, that would be a campaign the Lord-Who-Shits-Gold would not win. He did fear the Lannisters supporting one of the other rival northern lords like they had done with him though.

Roose discarded this letter into the fire as well, and took a heavy seat on what he might have had some plans of turning into an ice throne. It was long before his mind could think clearly again, but he did decide that it was perhaps time that he legitimized Ramsey. The boy had proven a worthy heir and marriage through him could bear great fruit.

Yes, he would legitimize Ramsey, ship him off to either marry one of Frey's daughters or maybe one of the stronger Riverland lords' daughters. Ramsey had proven that would be more than able to rise to power there, not enough to threaten the Lannisters, but enough to solidify the Boltons' power through the Seven Kingdoms.

Soon, the Boltons would be everywhere, and no mere lord could pose a threat to them. Not even Robb Stark should he ever return.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice ****and Fire**

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**CHAPTER 3- The Lord Stranger(I)**

The sudden onslaught of water was what finally woke Robb from his nightmares. He had a chance to see a man with a recently emptied bucket standing over him before he had to shut his eyes from the splitting headache that assaulted him. Of course, that headache was soon followed by the terrible pain that could only be cracked and maybe even broken ribs.

He felt like every part of him that knew pain was reliving those memories all at once. He squinted against the sudden urge to either cry or throw up.

"Oy, open your eyes Stranger. Don't think we don't know you awake." Said a petulant voice that all too loud for Robb preference.

"May'e 'e don' wanna wa'e up? May'e we outh'a wa'e 'im up' mo'e?" Came a broken voice that grated quite gravely against Robb's ears.

"I say we should have killed him in his sleep, this bastard killed four of ours, including the Lord Gentle." This voice sounded mad for some reason, while the others had little care.

"We can't just kill him; did you see how he fights? I say we let him join us, no way would we ever fear soldiers or competition again." This voice was younger than the others for sure, filled with eager excitement and awe.

"Join us? I say we sell him, he has to be a lord of some kind, maybe even a lord in hiding by the looks of him."

"I'm as much a lord as any of your, even less so perhaps." Said Robb as his eyes finally adjusted to the light and the pain. He chose not to get up, allowing the men instead to keep looking down on him on the ground. It would fool them into a sense of security and control over the situation, while he instead sought a way out of this mess.

For one thing, he no longer had the sword he had taken from a Frey patroller he had killed. His hands were also tied in front of him for the men to see. These, along with the injuries he was nursing, made a pretty depressing conclusion for his plans of escape.

"Or rather I'm no longer a lord. I was exiled, from the north you see. Before the War of Five Kings even began." Robb wasn't sure whether he could sell a good enough lie to survive this, but he hoped these men were dumb enough to believe him without further enquiries.

"Nah, that's hard to believe. Why would the north exile someone like you? The way you fight, you might have been real useful in that war they just had." The man that spoke was one that appeared to be the best educated of the lot, which was just bad luck for Robb that he was the one who decided to speak first.

"The north, the Starks, believe in honor and duty you see. Perhaps even a bit too much. They believe in doing the right thing even against personal gain…I on the other hand believe otherwise. So, it came as no surprise when I got punished for doing what I did…." Robb choked a bit between words as he spoke, and he hoped that the men excused this for passion of the story rather than a broken and beaten man mourning his loss of a family he failed to save or protect.

"What did you do?" Asked a giant of a man, his voice booming above all others as he came to stand beside his comrades.

Robb suddenly had a flash of a memory of the man, something that may have happened between them that he couldn't quite recall. He still didn't recall how he came to be here, but he was beginning to understand that these men had to be bandits judging by their gear.

"I was in cahoots with some bandits nearby, used my military training and sharp mind to lure soldiers into traps where the band could strip them of their valuable possessions. Became quite good at it, started becoming a bit too adventurous, started leading the band into dangerous areas, castles and whatnot. Robbing real lords and ladies." Robb knew that he had the attention of the men now; even the educated one seemed drawn by the false story.

He surprised that they could be fooled by such a stupid and weak lie, but he wasn't about to complain.

"That true, or you just messing with us?" Asked a one eyed fellow who looked like his jaw was used to crunching on rocks.

"It's very true, how do you think I've survived this long. How do you think I came by that sword…took it from Lannister patrol soldier is what I did." Now he truly had them, their eyes were filled with wonder. Taking from Frey men was one thing, but Lannisters?

"They thought I was some bandits they've been looking for, said that they'd be bringing in more Lannister men here to uproot the whole Riverlands looking for them." He hadn't come across Lannister men of course, only cowardly Frey. Those Frey men hardly knew anything and were very easy to put down.

But he had heard reports about bandits in these parts during the war though, so he hoped he knew enough to fool these men into releasing him somehow.

"How many were there?" Asked the excited young fella; his eyes still gleaming with awe.

"Ten; had to trick them into a trap before I could finally face them. Even then I only managed to wound them and took a sword from one of the others, couldn't take much else besides coin as well of course." Another lie. He had killed the few Frey men he had come across in blind fits of rage. Those hadn't had much coin o take anyway.

They were all awed by him now or at least awed by the story. He hoped against hope that this was enough to set him free, he wasn't exactly sure how much he could trick them more.

* * *

It was a rather dull night under the stars in the Riverlands for the Lannister soldiers that night. Or rather it had been a dull night every night.

None of them particularly appreciated being here, even though they were given free rein to terrorize those who might harbor disloyalty towards the current Lord of the Riverlands. But those people were become too few with each passing day, and they weren't exactly encouraged to terrorize the loyal ones as that would send a bad message.

They were all chosen to stay here because they were different from conscripts; they were the loyal men who had chosen to become the soldiers of the greatest kingdom in Westeros. They were the men who were trusted to carry out whatever job they were given without question or hesitation. And for that they left here to be guard dogs and patrol men, working with incompetent fools who hardly knew how to wield a sword without cutting themselves.

They'd been built a nice little fort close to one of the rivers of course, a place for "protection and a symbol of their existence". Yet they hated it, it was just a reminder that they were here to stay. As was the new men that kept arriving every week. The commanders of the Lannister host didn't say anything to the men, but amongst themselves they worried that they were here to form a permanent Lannister garrison and presence in the Riverlands. That they were here to further spread the power of Tywin.

Frey was probably too stupid and occupied to realize it, but one day the Riverlands would wake up and suddenly realize that there was a Lannister fortress and in their midst and they occupied good land and a good river to call their own. They would realize that should the order be given, the Lannisters would take the Riverlands even better than they had before.

The squad of thirty men had been sent out to gather supplies wherever they can, and they had managed to bring back quite a few things. With what filled their carriage, they might be able to live well for a few months.

Sadly, they were to deliver it all to the command center, or suffer the consequences.

Flynn Bata was the man in charge of this squadron, and he considered himself a man of great capabilities and a great future. It is the reason that he didn't complain about being here unlike the others, why he didn't mind being station here, possibly forever.

In fact, he had desires of one day ruling over a large Lannister land here, a land made by and populated by professional soldiers. He would gain recognition and fame through his work here, and be honored by the Lannisters for his contribution to their cause.

Three scouts came galloping into the clearing, their horses bruised and puffing from the strain of their ride here.

"What's the meaning of these?" demanded Flynn as he advanced upon the two men. Which in itself raised a slight alarm as he was certain that there had been four men gone out, not two.

"We were waylaid on our way back captain Flynn, Frey men my lord." The one that spoke was the least calm or well-maintained of the two. His horse was also the only one with clear wounds.

"Why would Freys attack us men? Are you out of your mind?" The men must have lost their minds, Flynn wouldn't be surprised top learn that it was some small band or another. Freys were cowards, o way would they dare attack Lannister soldiers.

"He's telling the truth captain." Said the other one, a tall fella who was as calm as he was supposed to be in this instance. He showed great composure, Flynn would have to keep this once close I the future, he could use men that could keep their wits even in crisis.

"It seems that old Frey is not as foolish as he had us all believe captain. He defeats us her, takes our gear and loot, and he can claim that bandits or remaining loyalists waylaid us." Said Flynn's lieutenant, a seasoned but rather arrogant man. One prone to stating the obvious and passing it off as some great new insight.

"How many of them?" Asked Captain Flynn, his voice tinted with the strain of holding himself back from drawing his sword. Doing so now would show anxiety and weakness to the men. That might cost him their loyalty even if they survive this.

"Not sure captain, we heard war drums though and saw ravens flying up above. I believe they planned on taking us by surprise. I heard one of them sat that they needed our uniform to disguise themselves."

"They must have planned on passing themselves off as our scouts and lulling us to a false sense of security. But the fools couldn't even do the job properly." Said the two scouts, who were met by light chuckles from the gathered men.

Flynn had to admit that this was to their advantage. Had they been caught by surprise, they might have all perished indeed against a large force. But now that they knew…

"FORMATION 3-4-5-2 NOW." Bellowed Flynn, and the men were quick to do as instructed.

This formation was invention of his, or rather it was one that he had come by himself without learning or hearing from anyone else and taught it to his squadron. It was very useful in breaking a larger force.

The men positioned their six wagons in a crescent shape, in front of the camp and facing the direction where the enemy would come. Two wagons faced the oncoming force directly, for these two wagons they had to quickly dig small holes and bury portions of the wheels in the holes then close them. This meant that it would be a little difficult to simply move the wagons, especially since they placed bricks and stones on the wheels as well.

The two front wagons were joined together and allowed no space in between them; this was meant to force a charging enemy elsewhere. And that elsewhere was the four other wagons. Two in the left, with a small space for at least one horse or two men on foot to fit through was free between the wagons. It was the same in the right as well.

Three men with shields would be positioned slightly behind each of the openings between the wagons. They would be the men who would meet those of the enemy who got through the openings. As the openings themselves were layered with stones and bricks, they would break the enemy's speed enough for the three men to face without worrying about momentum going against them.

After the large wagon on each side were four men each, all of them with shields. These men were the best of the fighters available, they were responsible with dealing with those who tried to outflank the wagons rather than go through the spaces between wagons.

I the center of the crescent of wagons would be five men, these without shields but all mounted. They would either meet whatever force managed to break through, or assist their comrades if they see a need for it.

A short ways behind the five in the center were the two available carriages, on top of which two men each were, all four men were the best bowmen they had. These men were to fire wherever they deemed necessary.

This was Flynn's 3-4-5-2.

They heard the war drums coming from the direction that the scouts had, thus assuring them of their good positioning. The drums didn't sound numerous, but then Flynn, who was among the five mounted, doubted the enemy would have brought a large enough host or too many drums to be heard from too far away and thus ruin their surprise attack. It would still have been better if they had chosen not to use the drums in the first place and instead catch the men here by complete surprise.

It didn't take too long before three men finally appeared. All of them holding overly large drums and sweating with the effort of banging them. The Lannisters prepared themselves for the larger force to come charging against them. Only it didn't. Instead, the Lannister men continued their anxious wait and thus didn't see the men sneak up behind the camp.

So distracted by the scouts' reports, the war drums and the possibility of a large force of incompetent and foolish Frey men, that they kept their whole attention forward and didn't think to look behind them. Though to be fair, the position behind wouldn't have been good for mounted men or a marching force, but it was very easy to navigate for fifteen men on foot.

The fifteen men snuck into the camp and spread themselves out. Six men, three on each side, silently approached the four men force behind the innermost wagons waiting for out flankers. At the same time, two men, one on each side, climbed the carriages with the two-two archers. Three men surrounded the five mounted soldiers in the center of the crescent while four, two each, attacked the three closest Lannister soldiers on each side. This only left the front-most three-three men free.

It all went very quick, almost before the Westerlanders were aware of what was happening. The two men on the carriages easily dispatched the archers with their long daggers that slit the bowmen's throats. Then the archers quickly assisted in killing the four-four men at the rear with no more than three arrows each. The archers then turned their attention to firing at the mounted men, doing their absolute best not to hit the horses.

The mounted five, so distracted by the surprise attack and the three men surrounding them, they didn't realize they were being sniped by archers until it was too late and they were all down. In the meantime, the three-three men who had dealt with the four-four Lannister men were free to advance and assist in dispatching the three-three Lannister men.

At this point, this only left the front-most Lannister men intact. These men had turned to face the onslaught, and thus the three on the right were caught blindsided by the three drummers who had dropped their drums and now used knives and daggers from too close a range for the soldiers to effectively use their swords. The other three on the right were not attacked at all; instead they were allowed to flee. These three men would run back to the main camp and falsely inform their commanders that the Freys had wiped out their squadrons with an attack that utterly surprised them.

* * *

The sun was just rising and it found a rogue band of seventeen men looking on at awe at The Stranger among them. The Stranger who had led them in an easy victory against career Lannister soldiers without losing a single man.

They didn't say it now of course, as they all were too busy marveling over the carriage nearly filled with loot, choosing which armor would fit those best, which bright new sword was just the right size and grip, calming the still shocked horses they now owned and still overwhelmed by their greatest victory and achievement ever.

No Lord Gentle had ever led them in such a victory, yet The Stranger had. They didn't say it now, but they all new they now had a new Lord Gentle.

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	4. Chapter 4

Just so everyone understands, the chapter with Roose Bolton actually came before the two chapters after it chronologically within the story. But the letters were sent to him before the battle against Lannister men and that's why he didn't receive any reports over that.

**Disclaimer: Don't own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire**

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**CHAPTER 4- The Lord Stranger(II)**

Vexed. That's what Baldwin Abbot was. Vexed. He was vexed by none-other than three men, three sweating, exhausted men who seemed to lack the proper state of mind to decide between proper respect to rank or forgoing all that in their haste to report and recover.

They were currently inside the small fort of the Lannister host in the Riverlands. Or rather what would one day become a Lannister fort? At the moment it was hardly anything but a few structures.

The building they were in was the only one made of real stonework befitting a fortress or castle. And it was only two stories high and held no more than four rooms in total. Their current room was the biggest and one of the only two at the top floor. This current building was the command centre and would one day become a mighty castle. That was the future that Baldwin had for this place.

It was thus upsetting when the three men reported their news.

"This is no time for jests men, show proper respect." The man that spoke had a voice used to giving orders and expecting them to be followed. **Adan** Flint was an old man, the oldest in the host by far, but he still had strength that betrayed his old age. He no longer fought with the men, at his age he might be a liability, but his experience and guidance was invaluable. He was Baldwin's hand in this army.

"We do not jest my lord. We speak truth and nothing but truth, it is all as we said it is. Everyone is dead, the horses we had captured and the carriage we brought back from our collection has been taken. We are all that survived of our squadron. Just as we've already said." The man that spoke was the one that showed the least composure and the least recognition of the rank before him of the lot.

"Frey men would not do this soldier; Walder Frey would not dare commit such a dangerous move." Adan was still unconvinced, but Baldwin was beginning to be. Looking at Aldrich, the other senior commander present in the room, Baldwin could tell that he'd long since been convinced.

Baldwin did not like Aldrich, he was too different from what Baldwin had come to know and recognize in the army. Balwin himself was a career soldier, not one of those who had been conscripted. He had chosen this life from a young age; nothing brought him and his family greater pride than seeing him in his armor and command.

In time he had risen up the ranks to become captain, and finally the Lannisters had granted him overall command of the army they had left behind in the Riverlands. Two thousand men were present, a small number compared to what the Lannisters boasted. This number was enough to keep growing though, as they already were each day that went by. And he was the man left in charge of that growth. He was the man who would see this small host become a true army camped right inside the Riverlands.

One day the river lords would wake up and suddenly realize that the Lannisters now owned and controlled great land right in their midst. They would realize that they have a new lord and he was from the west and loyal to the lord of the west rather than that of the Riverlands.

They would wake up and see a mighty society of elite soldiers ready to fight from the inside and win upon the whims of their true lord. And Baldwin would be the lord of this land and commander of a society of career soldiers. They had already named their new land Wet Hill and their two rivers were River of Rocks and the Gold River.

Aldrich did not fit Baldwin's plans, not like Adan did for instance. Adan was a career soldier, the man had refused any offer for retirement, and even those that were too lustrous even for him. His life was in the military, it was all he knew and all he loved. So as he grew in age, he placed in positions of rank and authority. But he never wanted full command, always much more satisfied being an advisor and Baldwin could think of none better for him.

Aldrich, brown hair cut neatly in what had to be some fashion of some kind, was different from the completely bald Baldwin and Adan. And while Adan and Baldwin had spent time in the front lines with the men, fighting side by side for years, Aldrich had always been a man of rank.

He hailed from a merchant family but was not neither the first nor the second son, so he had no real chance of taking over the family business. But he did have enough money to buy himself into the army and seek glory within it. Or at least that's what Baldwin believed.

Aldrich was a schemer; he somehow always managed to remain calm and calculated no matter the situation. He also had the tendency to see details that others did not. A great skill for a military general, but a bad one in a potential rival. It also did not help that there were more than too many men in the army who would prefer their beloved Aldrich be in charge of this host rather than the overly strict Baldwin.

"Maybe Frey has finally grown balls and a min enough to realize what may one day happen here." Offered Baldwin, and he realized too late that he had addressed this to Aldrich, and in a manner that seemed more like he sought the man's vindication of his own thoughts rather than a proper statement.

Even worse, Aldrich did not vindicate his words:

"Perhaps, or perhaps he might have been coerced into it. Think about it, even if Frey somehow realized what it is that we might one day accomplish here, he would not dare attack us even so. I believe that Bolton might have something to do with this as well. They attacked at night when it would have been too dark to tell a Frey man from a northerner, and employed tactics that may be too sophisticated for Walder Frey to think of." Aldrich spoke in that overly analytical way of his. Baldwin really did not like Aldrich.

"Perhaps my lord, tha…that would explain it. Frey men would never beat us so even with such tactics; they are cowards and weak fighters. They must have had the assistance of northerners." The soldier grew more and more composed with each word he uttered, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and a doubt he carried had been cleared. Such was the power of Aldrich's words and presence that now all three men looked renewed.

"But why would Bolton do this, why would he strike at Lannisters and so far from his own lands?" Questioned Adan. He didn't like Aldrich other.

This time Baldwin was eager to offer the explanation himself, but quick like a viper, Aldrich spoke first.

"Because he understands what we're trying to accomplish and he might fear that we are too close to his beloved north. If we can build a place her in the Riverlands, what's to stop us from doing the same in the north one day? But if he strikes us now with Frey, they delay our advancement and since they only waylaid a small squadron at night, who's to say it wasn't bandits or some remaining Tully loyalists.?" Once more Aldrich's words had effect on the three men. Once more Baldwin felt his dislike of the man grow.

"So Frey believes that if he attacks the squads we send out he can delay our plans; does he? Well, this time we play the game differently. We will not bother the Lannisters with this, we will not run home like little boys bullied by bigger men. We will show Frey that we know what he's done and we will not stand for it.

"From this day on, we too shall hit back when the chance presents itself. I officially remove the boundaries of our reach and remove the limit of our hand. We shall no longer limit ourselves to only taking from those that resist Frey; we will also take from whoever doesn't give us what we want when we arrive to ask. We shall do so, in the name of the Western Lannister army, the greatest force in the whole of Westeros." Every man in that room was filled with the conviction of the current lord commander's words, every man but Aldrich Darion.

* * *

Aldrich had plans for what they were to build here, he sought to see it grow and show his family that he was more than just a spare son. He would show that he had always been comfortable with a supporting role, an advisor to provide keen insight like he had done so loyally to Baldwin. He would help turn their little "Wet Hill" into a proper powerhouse.

But now be feared that perhaps Baldwin was not the man he had believed him to be. Perhaps he was just as self-serving as all the other greedy men that Aldrich so despised.

Watching the men in the room eager with plans that would surely lead to the doom of what they sought to build, he thought that maybe it was time he sought another to advise, before he sunk along with this ship.

* * *

Rob tried not to let the rush of victory overwhelm him as it had the other men. He still could hardly believe that they had decided to give him command like that, even if it was just to test his capabilities and truth to his words.

He worried over what he had felt during the battle while the bandits celebrated their victory, delighted in getting to browse which armor fit the best and which sword had the perfect grip and maintenance. While the bandits marveled at the carriage of loot and collections nearly filled from what the Lannister men had gathered.

He worried about the rush and elation that had nearly overcome him when he had made plans of attack and lead men in a brave strategy. For a few moments, he had forgotten that he was no longer the King in the North and these were mere bandits he now led.

For a moment he had led his men to a slaughter, that his pregnant wife and mother had been brutally slain for his foolish actions. Just for a few moments, he had relished in being something important, in being the man in charge. And that scared him. He did not enjoy it one bit.

"I think this one fits you Stranger." Came the voice of Gulf as the giant wandered towards him with armor in his hands. His right forearm was still injured, just as Robb's ribs still were, but Gulf turned out to be q man who held no grudges. He was actually one of the more enthusiastic to follow Robb's plans.

"What about you, find one that fit?" Asked Robb as he accepted the armor. It was the best of the lot, probably one that had belonged to the captain of the lot. Wearing Lannister armor did not fill him with excitement or anticipation, but he worried that he would soon meet trouble worse than he already had and armor might do him good.

"None fit, all too small." Gulf answered; not even trying to hide his disappointment.

"There is spare armor in there, maybe the men can take that to a smith and have it put together to make one big enough for you." Robb made sure not to include himself in the conversation, he hoped the bandits would allow him to leave in peace seeing as he'd led them in what had to be their greatest of victories.

"As long as it doesn't all go to making armor for Gulf. We might have a carriage to sell, but that armor and those swords would fetch good coin too." It was **Peythos **who spoke, a whip of a man who preferred daggers and knives over sword. And he was nearly s deadly with them as any man here with a sword.

"**Peythos **is right, we should seek to sell what we can then see after if we have some to spare to make something for Gulf." Added **Braden**. The blond man was said to be a secret Lannister bastard and going by his blond hair and handsome looks that might be easy to believe. Except that he was from the east and had never met a single Lannister, neither had his parents.

"No, we need to take care of Gulf first. We will need him in top form for what's to come."

"That's right; we'll need every man and resource we can spare. The Lord Stranger may have gifted us this easy battle, but we need to pull our weight too and avoiding disappointing him."

"No need to be so reverent Lander, we all knows what the Lord Stranger is capable of and we will all pull our weight."

"That's right, with the Lord Stranger leading us, there's no telling what we will accomplish."

"We've always thought too small, because we were too small. We've always been mere bandits, but what if we can be more. What if, with the Lord Stranger to lead us, we can even become real mercenaries?"

"Yes. Mercenaries always get to meet real lords and ladies and always have money for booze and women. Imagine if that was us."

'We'll to recruit more first before we can think have become a hired army, but once we do, there's no telling what we can become."

"With the Lord Stranger leading our army, we might even service the king; maybe we might even get to sail all the way to Essos to fight. We will win ever battle and live on in legends and songs."

"That's right,, with the Lord Stranger's guidance, we will be legendary."

The words of the band washed over Robb like a flood, each new sentence piercing his core. It all sounded too similar to the night he had been crowned King in the North, the night he began to believe that he actually was special.

He did not want that again, but looking upon the awed and eager faces of these mere bandits, hearing some birds screech overheard, he realized that he still had work to do.

His sisters were still in Lannister hands and likely suffering consequences for is actions. His homeland was still in the hands of the Boltons and probably suffering under their treachery and cruelty. His father still needed justice, his mother needed justice, his brothers needed justice and the Iron Islands still needed to learn that they were foolish to strike at the north.

He looked at the faces of the men and raised his brand new sword high above with conviction reborn. The cheers of the men washed over him, and he swore to them, to himself, and to the world that he would make them into a mighty force that would shake the kingdoms and deliver justice and pain to those who deserved it.

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	5. Chapter 5

My plan here is to eventually have Robb and Danearys meet at some point. But this is very far off.

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, same as previous chapters and those to come.**

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**CHAPTER 5- The Four Hudred**

The new barracks of Aldrich's legion had only just recently been built and the wood was still freshly brown and yellow, the bark still wet and one could even smell the airy scent of cut trees still.

They were tall enough for a man to stand straight, but sadly weren't big enough for more than the three hundred men he currently commanded. Even that three hundred was pushing it.

Inside, the small beds were no bigger than a cot. They were mostly black bed rolling and black blankets, all divided in five rows of sixty lines stretching from the doorway to the far corners. The door itself was barely more than logs split in half, nailed together and then placed on rickety hinges.

He knew that his men got cold sometimes at night, he would sometimes hear their teeth chattering or see them with either snort or pale faces in the mornings. Sometimes he would notice that they tended to struggle to get their fingers to work properly upon waking up.

But they were strong men, resilient men; the whole lot of them. Their bodies bore scars of battle, their faces hard and determined, some might even say they seemed almost as though they had never smiled before. They were all completely bald and clean shaven (Aldrich believed the more time they spent grooming themselves, the less they had for training) and they ranged from tall to too short for an average man. They also ranged from light but tanned skin, to copper and brown.

Some of his men didn't hail from the Wetserlands and some of them weren't hailed from Westeros in general. His unit consisted of a fair amount of bastards, those men that might be frowned upon by others found a place in his unit. He had only been given two hundred soldiers to command, the rest were his own personal men yet they now all worked and fought as one.

"They are better than I had originally expected them to be." Damon Hill said; one of Aldrich's two lieutenants and trusted advisors. As the name suggested, the man was a bastard and had little future prospects in rank before being recruited by Aldrich himself. He was loyal and had a keen mind, and so made a good left hand.

The sun shown off the man's shinny bald scalp, somehow he always managed to keep his completely shaven head shinning. He wore his red and gold lined armor as he always did; a helmet tucked under one toned arm. Damon was of average height, standing only half a hand shorter than Aldrich himself. He had a rather thin mouth, his lips almost as nonexistent as his facial hair.

"They will do well in what's to come." Aldrich agreed. He wasn't exactly sure what was to come, Baldwin had been getting more and more unpredictable as the days rolled by and they lost more and more travelling teams. Though the latest had been rather small ones; carrying little of consequence.

Baldwin had called another meeting that morning, summoning them all from their usual morning routines. Aldrich had been observing his men practice their forms using sword and shield, all lined up in rows of ten behind their new barracks. With him were Damon and **Darvin Blacktide**, his two trusted advisors.

**Darvin **stood out in these ranks for being one of the tallest men around and for his dark skin. The tall warrior had been a personal guard of his family's during their travels before being replaced for a younger version once age began to creep up on him. At sixty five, he was no longer as fast as he once was but his experience and loyalty was of great value to Aldrich who had picked him when he had been given rank.

**Darvin** was from Essos by birth and may or may not have been bought by his father as a slave. Aldrich could still recall the man fighting bandits and any who posed danger to his family in the darker and less protected roads. But now that was all behind him, his black hair and long since gone gray and even white and his skin riddled with scars while his face bore the wrinkles of time.

"What is to come exactly? Does anyone but Baldwin even know? Does he?" Damon asked rather snidely. **Damon** had never much liked Baldwin and never understood Aldrich's desire to see the man succeed.

Damon didn't understand stability the way that Aldrich did. Baldwin had been given rank above them all; to usurp or challenge that could damage everything that they had been trying to build here. All Aldrich sought was the success of their efforts and labor.

The little fort that they had been building seemed to grow nearly every day. New stone work was added with new arrivals to the camp and now the white stone building had four rooms at the bottom and three on top. There were plans to build the next rooms over a new basement that was meant to come.

In time the basement itself would be extended into a dungeon.

* * *

Once more Baldwin tried and almost failed not to delight in the attendance that had gathered in the meeting room of the building. He still and tried to think of this as not his meeting room and not his growing castle, but he was failing quite badly.

How could he not think this as all his when it was him that took credit for good work and he that took blame for the failures that kept plaguing them. He was the lord commander here, and should this place ever turn into the mighty region he saw it becoming, he would become a true lord with his own fortress to rule.

That was if they manage to achieve all that in his lifetime and while he still had his strength. Sometimes he worried that someone might overthrow him should they think him weak. He couldn't help but feel that Aldrich Darion and **Olver Marston** would be the first to turn on him and the two men might already be conspiring against him. It was why he had their barracks built on opposite sides of the camp and their rooms in the castle on different floors.

Aldrich was way too calm and quite sometimes, whereas the blond **Olver** was brash and loud. Olver was almost predictable, but Aldrich was an enigma. A conniving enigma no doubt.

"I believe that the time has come for us to finally be proactive rather than reactive. Our plan has sadly failed and matters continue to grow worse." Baldwin said as his opening statement to his subordinate captains.

"Have you finally decided it is time we asked for assistance and guidance then?" **Millcar Brockstone** asked, in that annoyingly high pitched voice of his.

The man had the face of a youth despite being in his thirties. His brown hair was always kept uncut and untamed, as though he had no idea how to groom himself. Sometimes Baldwin wondered how he had even managed to be given his seat as a commander of his own unit.

**Millcar** also had the bad affliction of cowardice, or at least that is what Baldwin believed. Nobody he'd asked remembered ever seeing **Millcar** fighting alongside the soldiers, nobody seemed to remember him ever being a soldier without rank in fact.

And now he'd developed the rather irritating habit of requesting word be sent back home about their predicament. He did not understand that in time they would need to stand on their own without needing the constant hand of the Lannisters to hold them up.

"No, we're going a different route. We've received word that one of Walder Frey's banner men will be taking a small force to use Oldstones as a base of sorts. We are not sure exactly what the reason will be, but we will find out. Two units will depart tonight under the cover of darkness.

"Their objective will be to catch the Frey force and cut them off from Oldstones and where they come from. The ideal scenario would be to capture them and bring back alive, but we can manage with only a few should things go sideways." To Baldwin, this was a sound strategy. Two units would consist of at least six hundred men, more than enough to overcome whatever force might be heading for Oldstones.

The other four commanders were all present in the meeting along with their own advisors and subordinates. They all knew that any of them could be sent out for this mission, that it was guaranteed that Baldwin would not remove his own men from the camp.

Sabast Samford had taken the most loss in this new attack by Frey and Bolton. It was men from his unit that had been wiped out that first time and men from his unit that continued to face danger each time they left camp. His unit was responsible for the collection of resources and money throughout the Riverlands for the camp, and thus they faced the most danger.

It then stood to reason that he would not be sent out, and the relief began to creep into then light skinned man's face as the worry lines slowly retreated from his weary face and his narrowed green eyes relaxed. He even began to lean more casually against his chair, his red hair coming to rest calmly against the back of the chair.

Millcar was a yes man and a coward; he was easy to control and not very reliable in confrontations too far from proper support. It was thus obvious that it would be too much of a risk and loss to send him out there.

It thus meant that it could only be Aldrich Darion and Olver that went out. The two men had strong units and were possible rivals to Baldwin's rule. If they succeed in their task, then they merely implemented Baldwin's plan and would receive equal praise. If they failed, then they receive equal or more blame. It was perfect for Baldwin.

It thus came as no surprise to anyone when, deep into the night, two units set out in the same direction using different routes. One, the unit with three hundred men, would travel off the road while the other, with four hundred men, would take the road.

* * *

Walder Frey glared down at the men who had brought him this news. More of his men had been assaulted and the useless fools still had no idea who was responsible. Only that he was losing patrolmen every week. There also seemed to be an increase in unease, as some of his vassals reported bandits breaking in and taking from their very homes.

It was the same from all of them, bandits using great smarts to trick them and loot wherever they could. He heard news that some of the common folk were even beginning to join up with the bandits, those who apparently had nothing else to do to keep surviving. As though that was his problem.

And then some of the other river lords were worried about the presence of the Lannister host left behind. They all complained that the men were asking for too much and each day and their camp grew bigger and more fortified. There were some that even had the audacity to claim the Lannisters were trying to build to their own new permanent base here.

How could he be surrounded by such idiots, and cowards? Cowards and idiots the whole lot of them.

"What of my sons, how go their mission?" Walder asked the two men that stood before him.

He'd sent his sons Lothar and Olyvar to Oldstones where rumour said the bandits were hiding out. They would bring back the swines alive so he could have the pleasure of exerting his frustrations upon them before beheading them.

"Everything is well my lord; they will soon reach Oldstones within the week. They claim that they have been facing numerous delays in the road from booby-traps my lord." The rather fidgety man who should have passed as an officer of communications answered. With his pale complexion and eyes that were different sizes, and his overly large nose; the man looked like he barely knew his own name.

"Traps." Walder spat, the word filled with disdain. Leave it to his useless brood to suffer delays and probably losses to a mere bunch of bandits.

"There's something else my lord. We've received reports that a unit of four hundred men has set out from the Lannister camp my lord, all of them armed and armoured. They march with pace my lord and seem determined for a goal ahead."

Walder glared once more at the two men, wondering if it could be possible to simply wish for better men.

"The Lannisters give us their support fully, they are here to help protect our lands, not take them. Tywin Lannister would not need to play games against us if he wanted the Riverlands now would he?" The whole notion was preposterous to Lord Frey. This whole kingdom was cowardly. If Tywin Lannister wanted the Riverlands, he would have them by now. With the Tyrells in his pocket, who would dare stand against them?

"I agree my lord, but the Lannister men have been reportedly taking tribute from those who are loyal to you as well. There are reports that they have even begun to attack our own men." The man seemed to have been saving this for last, and he shrunk under the glare of his lord.

He feared that this would be dismissed as well, and he might even be called a fool for it. But this had all come from reliable men and he believed it wholeheartedly. He just hoped that Lord Frey would too, before it was too late.

Walder Frey could not believe it. Why would the Lannister men bother attacking his? What would be their gain?

"It gets worse my lord, I've received word that northmen, mostly likely Boltons, have been attacking and killing off Lannister men on travel. I tried to contact my cousin's friend in the north and he told me that the Boltons are preparing to send men south, here my lord, under the command of Roose's son Ramsey." The other man said, not even lifting his large head to look Walder in the eye.

"More horseshit from you. Lannisters and Boltons attacking us and each other? Why would they do that?" Walder was putting on a brave front now, but he was beginning to have that bad feeling he had whenever someone was mocking him and disrespecting Freys. Whenever someone thought he was too dumb.

"I don't know my lord, but Roose Bolton has legitimized his son my lord. The bastard is now eligible to hold lands and title."

Walder had heard about Bolton's son from the northmen. They all said he was capable but far too cruel and twisted. They said he had a charm about him that held the loyalty of his men but his enemies should rather kill themselves rather than fall to his hands. The boy took too much pride in the Bolton traditions.

Walder dreaded to think what would happen if the boy was let loose in the Riverlands, loose in his lands.

"The Boltons and the Lannisters are our allies boy." Walder spat, but then quickly realised that he had sounded much less sure of himself now. And the two men reporting sensed it as they both suddenly perked up.

"They are my lord, and before this alliance the Boltons had other allies and even had a lord they had sworn to. In other words, we can't trust them my lord. I heard more my lord, things from the northmen that are supposed to be patrolling with us.

"They say that the Tullys named Robb Stark their king and thus Roose Bolton is technically then king of the Riverlands. They say that the Boltons should take back what's theirs by right."

Walder kept quiet, he feared that if he spoke the men would notice that he had his own doubts as well. He remembered seeing a look in Bolton's eyes as the man departed back for his beloved frozen wasteland. Maybe it was not much of an impossibility to believe that he would indeed want the Riverlands as well.

"What about the Lannisters then, hm? Why would they be involved in any of this?" This was Walder's last card to play, proving then reports wrong because there was no explanation as to why Lannisters could possibly decide to turn against them. The Freys had stayed in line the whole time.

"We don't think they know my lord. But it all makes perfect sense now. The Boltons want our lands, so they leave behind a few men under the guise of helping protect these lands and root out any remaining northmen loyal to the Starks. But in truth, these men pretend to be bandits and attack Lannister men in the dark.

"These Lannister men believe that they are being robbed and attacked by Frey because the Riverlands are now under the rule of the Freys. They maybe think that we believe the rumours spread by the other lords and we're trying to drive them out. So they hit back, and the Boltons hit back against them even more and even harder.

"Then Roose Bolton sends his son down here to do some damage control probably, maybe he will have him marry one of the daughters of the other lords and in turn gain some foothold here. It is all quite smart, while we're dealing with Lannisters; they get to solidify their hold over our lands." Both men had wide grins on their faces, the grins of men who had just completed a difficult puzzle.

But for Walder Frey, this was all trouble. He could very well tell Bolton that he had figured out his plan; the man might either deny or become more violent. He couldn't send word to the Lannisters either, they would think him a liar or wonder why they even needed him if he couldn't take care of this on his own.

This meant there was only one thing left to do.

"Where are the Bolton patrolmen?" He asked in a rage, his voice rising to higher pitches than was normal for him. He took pleasure in the way the two men shrunk back from his fury, their pitiful bodies seeming to fold into themselves.

"That's yet another problem my lord, we don't know. We believe that they may be headed for Oldstones too, probably to ambush our men. It is one of the reasons we believe that the bandits are all really just more of their men in disguise, we think the patrolmen intend to squash your sons between two forces."

Of course they were, it all made sense. If he hadn't been so busy being a ruler of a kingdom he would have realised this himself.

"My sons have two hundred men with them; the Boltons have fifty that we know of. Those bastards probably have more waiting ahead." Walder was under no illusion of victory for his sons in these circumstances. He firmly believed that even with greater numbers, his sons would be faced with a pincher and unknown terrain.

Not to mention they were expecting bandits, not trained northern soldiers.

"Send out two hundred more men, no, four hundred men. I don't just want the Boltons defeated; I want them captured alive so I can deliver them to the Lannisters as proof." Walder Frey commanded; he had intentions to ruin the Boltons' plans before they even took off.

And he would also need to send word to his vassals, all of them, to reject any offer of marriage that may come their way from Roose Bolton.

"But, my lord, lords Lothar and Olyvar are already a week out, it would be nearly impossible to reach them before they get to Oldstones." They never should have taken a whole week to get there anyway, but he should have known better than to trust his sons.

"Then tell the four hundred to ride fast and hard, while the Boltons continue to delay my sons, they will allow the four hundred to catch up." The two men looked at one another questionably; them both sprung and rushed off to their task.

He would see this mess resolved before it could become any more troublesome for him. He would prove that he could take and hold the Riverlands.

* * *

So it should be obvious ton all now what is transpiring here, but if it's not then don't worry; I'm going into more detail in the next chapter. The next chapter will definitely feature Robb and his new band again, I'm afraid a lot of the chapters to come will revolve mostly around Robb and his influence as the Lord Stranger.


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, let me start by saying that I am not someone who will be able to update all the time or all that regularly. Sometimes I will post a chapter where, sometimes I will post one over in my Harry Potter story. I am very busy in life and whatever free time I have I spend relaxing. Sometimes I do have a lot of free time but just don't feel like typing anything.

So I apologize for that.

That said, if there is anyone who is willing to be a beta for me, despite full knowledge that I will have an irregular posting schedule, I would truly appreciate the help.

Also, I'm South African, so some of the words and grammar might be different from what other countries use. I cannot change that.

* * *

I feel that I should warn everyone that this chapter will be jumping back and forth between a lot of different characters as it impact a lot of people in what place.

This chapter is aptly named; it is nothing but battles galore. The whole thing was almost boring to write, nearly eight thousand words of nothing but battles. I've never written battles like this before, so this was good practice for me.

Also, a lot of what happens here will be hard to believe or will seem too convenient, and it is. But a lot of it will be explained next chapter while some stuff will be saved for later. If you're really bothered, I will explain some of the none-spoiler stuff at the bottom.

After this, the battles will be less in between now, the main plot shall finally commerce.

Without further ado:

**Disclaimer**: I still do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6- Swords, Amour, Blood,** **Oldstones**

Olyver despised his brother, almost as much as he despised their treacherous father. He had yet to decide whether it was fortunate or unfortunate that his brother seemed to share the sentiment.

It was no coincidence that the two of them had been sent out here together, they both needed to prove something to their Lord father. Lothar had to prove that he was useful, that he wasn't just a mere shade of his father and an even lesser being than his older brothers.

Olyver on the hand had to prove his loyalty. He had once been the trusted squire to The Young Wolf after all; who knew what thoughts and what loyalties commanded him now. He knew that some of the others back home believed that he didn't deserve this, that as the youngest son he did not deserve to lead men over them.

He looked over at his brother; who at the moment was doing his absolute best to look tall on his brown horse, his armour polished and cleaned to near perfection. It all spoke of desperation, even the trimmed beard that he had never trimmed before. His brown hair was slicked back with oil, so shiny it was that it all but sparkled in the overcast day. His face wore a scowl, his mousy features twisted in what he no doubt believed to be the face of a commander.

Lothar did not understand, he believed this some great honour, he did not understand that his success here would mean nothing and his failures would doom his future.

Behind him marched his forces; two rows of a hundred men. Only ten of those were mounted, they rode closest to Lothar. Some of them were veterans of his father, the veterans that he no longer needed. Men past their prime, men who could not be trusted and cowards. Yet they all held themselves high, doing their best to imitate their commander. In Olyver's eyes they were pathetic and he despised them as well. He had fought alongside the Northerners; he had fought against the Lannister men. He knew what real men ought to look like.

He himself also rode a brown horse, though his leaner than his brother's but no doubt faster. He didn't always need strength if he could make up it with speed. His amour was not the most snug he had ever worn, but he trusted the sword at his hip and he couldn't help but brush his hand against the pommel every now and then. It was a way to reassure himself, of that he was yet undecided.

Behind him rode his own hundred, ten mounted and ninety on foot. Not a single one of them had reached thirty moons yet; the oldest was perhaps twenty-two. These men his father had given command over to him for a while now, they had been nothing but plebeian boys then, some of them beggars or skinny as a rake.

They were not an impressive lot, but they were loyal. To him. That was important, he did not know what was in his future, and for that he thanked his father's ignorance for giving him hundred men he could always count on. The irony was not missed on him.

"We're almost there; it is time for you to branch out." Lothar spat, his face twisted as he looked at him. Lothar really did not like him.

"I still maintain that splitting up is a good decision, but I also maintain that we should consider only doing so when we're closer to Oldstones, not so far out." They'd had this conversation before, he knew exactly how it would end but he still had to try.

"No, I told you that if we separate here; we will be able to avoid any other traps they may have set up for us. Send your men into the woods; that is a command." Lothar spat again, this time literally since spittle hit Olyver in the face.

He couldn't refuse of course, they might both command equal numbers, but Lothar was the overall voice of this expedition. Perhaps their father secretly wanted them to die out here.

* * *

Olyver thought he was an idiot, Lothar was fully aware of this. The boy thought he was better than him, better than all of them. Just because he had been the squire of Robb fucking Stark, as if serving the whims of that fool somehow made him better. Robb Stark had been an idiotic and proud fool and he had paid for his foolish mistakes.

Hopefully Olyver wouldn't be too far behind.

"What shall we do my Lord?" Asked one of the mounted men behind him.

He turned his head to look at them, to really look at them. He had not the faintest idea where his father had dug up these dregs, but he wasn't about to complain. Old men and cowards, the whole lot of them. But they were his, they were to follow his word or they would pay dearly for it. Not a single one of these men held much ambition, they were either too cowardly to chase it or too old. For some of them it was both.

"We'll move off the road, branch left into the trees here. Should offer us some protection and cover." He saw the dubious looks in their faces and eyes as he said that, none of the cocksuckers even bothered to hide their doubt of him.

"The bandits will be expecting us to march up the road, they will think the woods their safety net, not realising it is fishing net and we the fishermen. They will keep their eyes either on the road or the right, where Olyver is marching. We will catch them unawares." He all but growled at the men as he explained himself, hating that he even had to explain himself to the likes of them.

The bastards still looked unconvinced, and now shared doubtful looks amongst each other. Oh how he would enjoy punishing some of them when they got back. Perhaps they can be sent to the Wall, let them freeze their wrinkled balls off edge of the world.

"We go into the woods, I will have no more discussion on the matter." He all but screamed at them, turning and leading his horse.

He had to banish the possibility of his failure here; he would have none of that. Somehow failing to wipe out mere bandits would shame him irreparably in the eyes of his lord father. He would have none of that.

* * *

It had been a hard march, perhaps the hardest they had ever undergone. Truth be told, Olver had not expected his men to reach their destination so quick. But they had set a brisk pace, barely a rest for his squad.

Olver had a hunger, a hunger to fulfil his duty first before Aldrich, and be back before the other could do much but watch. He does this right, and he would have a growing support, support that he was going to need more and more now. He was of a minor knight house, but he would have that changed soon. Soon he would add the official title of Lord at the beginning of his name.

Baldwin was right to feel threatened by him, but Baldwin always thought too small; he was man of ambition but very short sighted. Olver though, he was capable in so many ways. None but perhaps Aldrich's aged dog from Essos and his man Vicken who commanded the left flank could match him with the blade back at camp, and very few of them if any could match him in knowledge and wits.

And so, here he was; begrudgingly following Baldwin's command for now. He would finish this mission with perfection; nothing could or would go wrong. He had two hundred men with him; the others had split off a while ago. He was continuing up the road, a hundred of his men had taken the right woods and another hundred had taken the left. He would close in the opposition and wipe them out with a closed fist.

He felt his lips stretch almost involuntarily into a grin. It was going to be a very good day, a very good day indeed.

* * *

Another time and perhaps Lothar may have found this moment comical if not a bit daunting. They hadn't been in the woods for more than an hour when they came across the sounds of what had to be unmistakeably the heavy feet of a multiple men. He had panicked, believing that perhaps the bandits had more men than he could have imagined possible for them.

So, in his panic, he lead a dashing charge, screaming what he hoped was a war cry at the top of his lungs as he and his men fell on the backs of whoever had been marching ahead of them.

Surprised and perhaps fearful of this new threat, the men they attacked had not put up much of a fight at first. Lothar and his had torn through them, cleaving and cutting and stabbing, all the while screaming at the top of their lungs. Of course, whatever adrenaline had been driving them just had to dissipate, and in doing so cleared his foggy mind. What he saw first was the colours, the colours of the cloaks, the colours of the breastplate, the colours of the helmets, and the colours of the hair.

Red and gold, there was red and gold everywhere. Polished beyond his own armour, well-kept and in better condition than anything back at the Twins.

Of course, the next thing he noticed was a tall whip of a man riding a tall whit stallion, said man had the baring of a commander and Lothar could feel the hard stare under the helmet meet his own eyes.

Then next thing he noticed was that, these people, undoubtedly, were Lannister men. It did not matter that he came across Westerlander men here, what mattered was that he had slaughtered a lot of them, what mattered was that his men had not caught as he had, for they still cut and stabbed whatever and whoever they could reach of the red and gold.

Then of course, as these things often tend to, things went from bad to worse real fast. Rage and resolve seemed to take over the man in charge and the guard around him. They roared their fury into the overcast day, and Lothar was almost certain the clouds darkened overhead.

He didn't quite remember how and when the leader had reached them, but suddenly he was carving a path right through Lothar's men, cleaving and moving through his men with alarming ease. The man was a wraith with the blade; blood twirled around him as though a halo of death. Dimly, Lothar noticed that both sides were very quickly wiping each other out.

His men originally had the surprise factor; they had taken a few of their numbers before the opposition were able to mount a proper fight back. And now they had the numbers' advantage, but that was very quickly dwindling. His mind dimly registered the fact that his aged and cowardly men were grief stricken in their panic; some of them had tears falling down their ashen faces.

Yet they fought on, how could they not, when the enemies had pressed right onto them, there would be no escape here. No way to flee that wraith of red and gold as he fell two men with blurred strikes of his sword in the same timeframe it took for another to fall from his horse, head flying through the air.

Two men rushed at Lothar, but they were without their helmets and one of them ran with a slight limp. These men were youths, and they meant to kill him. They meant to make a name for themselves perhaps. His sword whipped out as though with a life of its own and skewered the first men right through his throat. Then, he was moving onto the next, they exchanged two strikes before Lothar took this man's throat as well with a well-aimed cut.

Then the red and gold harbinger of death was before him, but unhorsed and one arm hanging loosely. Yet he still moved, fast enough to tackle Lothar off his own horse. The accursed creature scurried off in fright, leaving him to get back on his feet with his opponent facing him; right hand still grasping that overly shiny sword specked with blood.

For a moment, they stood still, facing one another. He wondered if maybe they could talk, if maybe they could salvage this, if he could even defeat this one armed man should they exchange blades. Luckily, he did not have to wonder for long for the wraith fell upon him, the blade still fast but no way near as elegant and fast as it had been before.

Lothar was able to follow it now; he was able to fight back. The man was trying but failing to perform the perfect forms he had been doing so easily before, but with one hand he was struggling. Lothar was doing better, but only just. They danced around each other, blades ringing against each other as the Lannister man fainted right before his sword whipped straight for his neck. Lothar was on to it and parried before going the neck as well. That too was parried.

They continued moving about the field, the sounds of death the music to their own dance and their blades their dancing shoes.

Then, suddenly, Lothar saw it. An opening. The other man was in pain and clearly tired, he was slowing down, becoming much sloppier, and for a split second, there he showed vulnerability on his left side. Lothar, almost giddy with the realisation that he was about to slay a worthy opponent, struck hard and fast.

His sword pierced the underarm of the man; the soft spot in his armour and Lothar carried his own weight behind the blade and felt it bite deeper, bypassing bone. The other immediately jerked and slackened off his feet.

Only, Lothar realised that he had joined him, his own legs suddenly unable to support his body.

The two men stared into each other's eyes on the ground, their faces mere centimetres apart. Lothar was tasting blood in his mouth and he couldn't breathe, he felt as though he was deep underwater and was suffocating.

"The name's Vicken Balmire…well met…coward…" With those words, the other man's life finally gave out.

In his hand, he held a long silver dagger, covered in blood. His annoyingly shinny sword lay a few feet behind him. Bastard must have dropped it even before Lothar had pierced him. Dropped it so he could use the dagger, dropped it because he had baited him, drawn him in, dropped it because…

* * *

The ringing sounds of clashing swords and shields, the screams of wounded and dying , and the putrid smells of death washed over Robb and his men as they remained hiding where they were. Where they were was on trees and bushes, where they were was the right side of the trees bordering the road.

They were waiting for someone, anyone really, to pass bellow and by them, waiting for an opportunity to strike at someone fool enough to wander here. This was a gamble, Robb understood that. But he had no choice, he had to make this gamble, had to kill as many of these bastards as he could. His men believed that he was after something like the gold that can be looted off the bodies or perhaps more amour and swords for the men and to sell off later.

But he wasn't, he was after revenge. And it bothered him that he was willing to put the lives of these men in danger to accomplish that. But he would do what he could and must, he had to deplete the number of Westerlanders and Freys as much as he could before they finally found and killed him once and for all.

He could almost feel the men around him fidgeting; the anticipation was almost thick enough to taste off the air. That and their fears. Sure this was what they had hoped for, but hearing death on the other side of the road was still enough to unnerve anyone. Especially to those who had yet to fight any major battles of their own.

Thankfully, for Robb was beginning o worry that his men might decide to run, he heard the sounds of heavy feet moving towards them. From what he could hear, there were quite a few of them, perhaps even double his forty.

They were Lannister men, he recognized their red and gold as soon as they appeared, marching in tight lines as best as they could in the tight spaces around the trees. But they never looked up, never saw Robb give the signal to his men, never saw the three tall trees, held up by tight ropes, fall heavily upon them as those ropes were cut.

The trees toppled with a loud crash, crushing no less than two men each to death while injuring a few more. More than one horse found itself and its ride suddenly trapped by the branches, unable to move. The marching stopped, panicked and frightened; their minds unable to comprehend what had just happened to their fellow soldiers.

That's when the archers in the trees struck, raining down arrow after arrow. They only had ten men up there, they could have had more but they had lacked the money to buy more bows, or perhaps lacked the lack of greed to invest in such things.

But ten was perhaps enough, for the panic stricken men were too late in raising their shields and by the time they did, perhaps fifteen if not twenty of their numbers had been felled by the arrows from the untrained archers.

As one, the Westerlanders turned towards the direction the arrows had come; their shields still held high, exposing their backs to the hiding men in the bushes behind them.

As one, twenty of Robb's bandits rushed the soldiers as quietly as they could, every one of them wearing armour and with sword and shield in their hands. They fell upon their enemies with force, swords piercing necks, legs and underarms.

Again the screams of the dying filled the ears, the metallic smell of blood thick in the air. The soldiers turned to face the newcomers as one, not realizing that they were now exposing their back to the other hiding men who immediately rushed out.

Robb and Gulf were among these ten, the two best fighters the band had. They reached the soldiers first, screaming on top of their lungs though for Gulf it was more of a bellow. Robb's blade danced among the men before him, rage colouring the world red even before blood was spilled.

Gulf waded through them with large axes on each hand, each swing putting down man and horse with ease. The archers had slid down by now, and they too joined what turned out to be a massacre as forty men surrounded eighty-three, fuelled by a crazed determination and hunger that bordered on berserk. The Lannister men stood no chance, they were frightened, caught unawares and facing a man that fought as well as the best they had seen and as little giant with axes at his sides.

Ina matter of minutes, thirty-five of Robb's men stood alive still, but none of Guillen's soldiers in red and gold.

Before, the celebrations of their victory had been instantaneous, but now not a single one of them celebrated. They had lost five of their numbers, much less than what they had originally anticipated but certainly enough to dampen the mood.

"There's still more to do lads…we'll come back for them when it's all done." Robb said in a quiet voice that was still strained by adrenaline, he could not allow himself to let go of the rush, to do so now would only slow him down. He was glad to notice that the others all still had that look in their eyes, they all understood that there was yet more fighting for them and had not let go of their craze either.

* * *

Olyver had chosen not to listen to his brother, perhaps because he did not trust him, but most likely because he wanted to be petulant. The side he had been sent to had thicker and more trees, it was also more of an uneven terrain and it would thus be difficult for the horses to function properly there. The other thing was that he really saw no problem with moving up the road; surely bandits would prefer to hide in the bushes than to face a squad of armed soldiers on an open road.

And he doubted they would be able to be sneaky anyway, most likely the bandits they were after would be watching the trees anyway. And so, he moved his forces back into the road once he had decided that enough time had passed for Lothar and his men to disappear from sight and hearing range. He did not want his brother to start something here; whoever might win that battle would still end up the loser in the long run.

Of course, things did not go as planned. It was not his brother Lothar that he ran in to; but what clearly was nothing but Lannister soldiers. All red armoured and smug, but just as shocked to see Olyver and his men as they were to see them.

Even before he had realized it, Olyver had drawn his sword. He only noticed his mistake when he heard the swords of his companions being drawn behind him. He had fought against these men before him for so long with the King in the North, it seemed that the resentment he felt towards them still lingered.

The other side had drawn their swords two, both sides staring each other down now. Except the Westerlanders had double the amount of men, better trained, better equipped and more horses. If a battle were to break out, Olyver and his men would be slaughtered.

The Westerlander commander, seating tall on his black horse, seemed to realize this as well because a self-satisfied grin split his angular face before he covered it up almost reverently with his helmet.

Olyver raised his hand in peace, wishing more than anything for the words to come out, words that would say that he desired no bloodshed, that he only came here for the bandits, but the words never came out. For in that instance, the howling forms of men suddenly leapt from the treeline, on both sides, dressed in Frey and Lannister colours.

The first man to reach the Westerlanders wore polished Frey armour, the same armour that his brother had worn he realized with a start, and he fell upon the Lannister captain with fury. He knocked his opponent off his horse before he could react to him and the two of them rolled on the ground in each other's clutches, feral groans escaping their mouths as they kicked and punched at whatever they could reach.

The next man to reach the red clad warriors wore no armour, though it looked like he had put on multiple articles of clothing stitched together to fit his large form. He carried two axes on each hand, and they swung with deadly speed and strength, a blade on each side cutting down men with each swing. The small giant bellowed with fury as he moved, a path opening up in the Westerlanders with ease for him.

Everything descended into chaos, the newcomers were hopelessly outnumbered and might have been slaughtered within seconds if the panicked red soldiers hadn't split up from one another and some rushed at Olyver's men, crazed with fury and fright.

Olyver knew there would be no talking now, so he lowered his own visor and kicked his horse into battle.

* * *

Those damn Freys, those damn cowardly and stupid Freys. Why did not they realize their place, why had they chosen this path?

Olver had been so happy when he'd heard the sounds of fighting on both sides, happy because he'd been certain that it was his men doing the slaughtering, but clearly it was not so. He'd been overjoyed to come upon the boy leading the Freys in the road, though the boy himself had seemed mighty surprised to see them.

He quickly estimated the boy's Frey soldiers to number no more than a hundred, whereas he had two hundred. Twenty men on horseback and a hundred and eighty on foot, greater numbers, better equipment and clearly superior training. The other side looked nothing more than boys.

And then those bastards had come out of the trees, almost as though they had been waiting for him. The right flank wore Lannister red dyed with blood, but he could tell that it didn't belong to them. The armour did not fit some of them and others wore it awkwardly. The left flank wore Frey armour, these wore it well.

Which meant his men had been defeated, on both sides? And now he was stuck between enemies on the left, right and front. He might have been fine with the odds if the son of a whore facing him hadn't knocked him down. And if he wasn't so damn good with his blade.

He lacked some of the finesse that Olver himself had, that Vicken had, but he made up for that with alarming intensity and speed. He fought like a mad dog, like a fucking wolf. He fought like a northernman.

Their blades clashed against each other, the ringing filling their ears as both men grunted with each strike, none able to draw blood yet. Though Olver's armour bore dents and scrapes from the stranger's sword. His own had yet to touch the other man, this infuriated him.

He did a quick trick with his foot work and managed to sneak in close enough to land a blow, finally, on the man's side. But the other merely grunted at the impact as it harmlessly struck his armour. It was a solid blow though, and Olver might have rejoiced if he didn't suddenly have a sharp pain right below his knee.

He quickly retreated and risked a single glance down to notice that the stranger had opened up a wound right below the knee, any higher and he would have taken away Olver's mobility. The other had drawn first blood, and despite the fact that he could still move well, Olver knew that in time he would develop a limp; already the pain was more than just barely noticeable.

Then they were clashing again, blurs of red and gold against brown and dark red. Olver the master of his art, each form performed to perfection but the other a monolith of speed and ferocity. It soon became clear to any who bothered watching that Olver could no longer keep up, for each strike he got through the stranger landed three more of his own.

For each cut her landed on the stranger, he suffered more himself. Soon, his hands were fast becoming soggy from the blood oozing out of a cut right above his right hand. His feet kept slipping on the ground due to the blood flowing down his left leg.

He'd lost his helmet, and now had a cut right above his left eye and blood was trickling down, it was all he could do not to wipe it off. His opponent on the other would just not let off, even though he too had suffered some wounds, he just kept coming, and he just wouldn't LET OFF.

Olver fell into form two, then four and six, his blade fast alternating between two strikes for the head, one for the gut and two more for the knees. He realized it as soon as he fell off the sixth form that he had made a mistake. The stranger had been expecting this, anticipating it even. As soon as he was about to withdraw, the stranger's blade came down hard, while his head remained undefended.

This was the problem with form six, succeed and you take away your opponent's mobility by opening up his leg, just as Olver had done to the stranger now, but if the strike is expected, your head is suddenly left undefended. Just as Olver's head now.

The sound of a cracking skull and squelching brain matter was like a gong that reverberated through the whole battle. There was no scream, hardly even a grunt, there was no struggle, squad commander Olver Marston simply topped over, the stranger's blade still logged into his head.

He twitched for a few seconds, his limbs fighting hard to stay alive, but then he lay still. Lifeless. Brain matter and blood pooling around his head and out of his ears. Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

That realization swept through the Westerlander force like ice water in their burning passions, it immediately extinguished whatever fire had been driving them for so long. They'd been doing well for themselves, minus the giant with the axes and the young leader of the Frey men; no one had really put up that much of a fight.

But with their commander dead, they panicked. Their morale fell. And with that, they turned and ran. Away from the battle, away from their fallen commander. The battle had been lost.

* * *

Olyver could hardly believe what he was seeing, he had been so certain that he and his men were about to be killed; the Westerlander force had turned things around on them so fast it boggled the mind. And yet they lived, they had won.

The one on one battle between the stranger with dark red hair wearing his brother's armour and the Westerlander commander had been epic, at least from what he could see when he wasn't too busy trying to stay alive or trying to rescue one of his struggling men.

But whatever chance he could get, he couldn't help but gaze at the battle in awe as the two masters of their craft moved around each other, the other dancing in harmony and the other a monolith of violence, speed and strength beating against the harmonious dance of the other.

It was all beautiful, so much he was almost regretful that it was over. Almost. The two remaining sides stood in silence, neither side knowing what they were supposed to do now, although everyone was gazing at the stranger, all of them looking to him for guidance.

Olyver was not bothered to realize that he too was looking to him, that he two was waiting for guidance. How could he not, this man had saved his life. Sure he most likely killed his brother and his men, but he might have done that too given the opportunity and lack of consequences.

The man bent down and picked up the fallen commander's blade. It was polished silver, almost bright in the overcast day, though covered in blood. He calmly wiped the blood off on the breeches of its former owner and then removed its sheath from the dead men before putting it around his own waist.

He had a slight limp to his movement now; he had not come out of this battle unscathed.

"Th…thank you…my lord…knight…" Olyver didn't know whether the man was a lord or knight, but fighting like he had to be one of the two.

"You saved my life…and that of my men…if there's anything I can do…" He was breathing hard, exhaustion and his injuries battling in sync to bleed away his strength.

The other man said nothing, still gazing down, his form alert and perhaps even furious, the heat all but rolling off his body.

Finally, the stranger raised his head and eyes as blue as snow caps met his brown and Olyver felt his heart lurch. He knew that face, he would know that face anywhere. Even with the shaggy beard and the hollow cheeks, he still recognized him.

A ghost, a ghost had come back to haunt them for their crimes. Even as he lost consciousness, his everything around him growing dark, Olyver had enough sense to note that he didn't care, in fact a part of him was rather rejoicing. The King in the North was here, and Olyver couldn't wait to see what he would do to those who had betrayed him.

* * *

The sun would be coming down soon, already dusk had settled around them as Aldrich's men settled into their camp. By the estimates of his scout, they were at least two days behind Olver, which was to be expected considering that the other force were using the road.

Two days back they had noticed a murder of crows and ravens flock high above them, black masses speeding towards the direction they were going, their excitement evident even down here. Immediately Aldrich had realized this likely meant Olver had begun his battles. Aldrich had been tempted to force his men through a hard march, but thought better of it.

It had been Olver's decision to move so fast and leave him behind, forcing his men to march hard only to arrive and fight exhausted would none of them any good. So they had simply kept to their almost leisurely march.

Against the better judgement of his aids, he had chosen to take a whole day off marching, and ordered his men to make camp. He had never been much of a soldier himself, but even he could tell that a battle was on the way, and he wanted his men to enjoy themselves while they could. So they laughed, they broke bread, they spilled wine and they hunted for meat.

Aldrich himself did not participate, neither did his lieutenants; he had ordered the two men to keep an eye on things, prevent the soldiers from going overboard if need be. He wanted them relaxed and happy, not too hungover to continue the march tomorrow. They were still maybe three days from Oldstones, tomorrow they would march long.

He was sitting in a chair in his tent, a book in his hands and a pipe in his mouth. In other words, even though he wasn't outside with the men; did not mean that he wasn't enjoying himself. But then he was interrupted of course, Darvin barging in on him with a small black haired man in his thick hands.

"What's the meaning of this?" Aldrich demanded; his irritation at the interruption unhidden.

"A scout, my lord, found him and some others lurking around the camp." Darvin growled in anger, his hands tightening around the small man's neck till he squealed in pain.

"So? Are you punishing him because he chose to do his job rather than drink and with the other men? You can't fault him for that Darvin." Aldrich said flippantly. It was very much in character for Darvin to bring him meaningless troubles that could and should easily be ignored.

"You don't understand my lord; this is not one of our scouts. This man, along with the others who escaped, is a Frey scout. There is a large Frey host marching behind us, they will be here within three hours, maybe less." Darvin twisted his hand in distaste, and the scout went limp as the sounds of breaking bones rang out.

Darvin still stood with the man in his hands, his dark features twisted by rage.

Aldrich felt his blood run cold, and the pipe slipped lifelessly from his stiff fingers. He did not fear Frey men, but they were not prepared to meet them, especially if they had more numbers.

Ignorantly, he had chosen this position without first making sure if it had any advantages. And then he had allowed his men to relax, to take off their amour and weapons. To drink their fills and gorge on bread and cheese and meat. Idiot!

"Rouse the men, make them prepare now!" He commanded in a hard voice, but even as he said that he could hear Damon screaming at the men outside. Gone were the sounds of laughter and cheer, now he could hear the hard feet of men as they ran around the camp to prepare themselves for battle.

"Can we outrun them?" He asked his right hand, but the man grimaced.

"We could, but we do not know what lies ahead of us, it is possible that they were waiting for us all along." Darvin replied.

"Meaning that there could be a force waiting for us up ahead and we might just throw ourselves into a pincher attack." The possibility was troubling, it was almost evident that Olver had run in to trouble; there was the possibility that he might have been defeated.

This was why he did not appreciate the command he had as much as the others did; he didn't trust his mind for military use too much.

"What do you suggest?" He asked Darvin with his back turned as he did his best to put on his amour as fast as he could. His hands were shaking as well and he did not want Darvin to see the evidence of his cowardice.

"I suggest we turn around and meet them. We didn't have any scouts of our own watching anything so we cannot know how many there are. And now thanks to their own scouts, they know where we are and the terrain we currently occupy. They know that the ground here has no advantages for us and might even hinder our mounted forces." Darvin advised in a smooth voice; finally dropping the dead scout.

So to run forward might put them at risk of a pincher between two forces, to stay here might mean more of an advantage for their enemies rather than them, to march back to meet them might give them the element of surprise.

They had no choice really. A keener mind might have known what to do, but he was not one, and neither was Darvin. Damon had the mind for all this, but now they lacked the time.

"If we survive this…"

'I will forfeit my command'- is what Aldrich had wanted to say, but he knew better than to say such weak things before leading his men to battle.

* * *

It was as they'd feared, they were outnumbered. Four hundred to their three, the odds were not too bad but the fact that the Frey host had split in two and engaged them from both sides was.

Still, any other day they might have survived even this, but some of his men were drunk, some had bellies filled to the brim and others had been enjoying restful sleep before being roused unceremoniously. They were not at their best, and it showed.

The mounted forces had made easy work of their opposition, but the same could not be said for the infantry, who were struggling to break out of the pincher.

Aldrich himself was not much of a fighter, he never had been. But he was in the thick of things now, Darvin and Damon at his sides cutting down any who got close. He wanted so bad to order them to move away from him, to assist the other men but he was a coward. He knew he would not survive long without them watching out for him here.

"We should retreat with what we can Aldrich…this is not a battle we can all come out of alive!" Damon shouted over the sounds of clashing swords and dying horses and men.

Aldrich could see that his cavalry was still doing well, sweeping through the battle now and doing their best to break up the Frey infantry as much as they could. But his ground forces were slowly being surrounded; they were too disorganized and would be closed in and finished soon.

Retreat would only save his mounted forces at this point; it would not help the other men. He could not give that order; these men had trusted him and gave him their oaths. He could not abandon them, if they were to die, he would fall with them.

It was this thought that liberated him, this realization that he would be so willing to fall with his men that finally gave him the courage he needed to fight alongside them. He was about to charge in when red forms all but materialized out of the woods with a small giant on their side.

They came from the right, thirty horses leading the charge. The mounted cavalry smashed into the right flank of the Frey host and proceeded to run right through them, opening a hole in the ranks as they went on. Before that hole could close, the infantry had arrived and immediately breached it, the small giant leading the charge. His axes cut down men with alarming ease, heads flew through the air as blood danced around him, when he struck amour it would bend under his might and the sounds of broken bones could be heard above even everything else.

They numbered at least more than a hundred in total, but they were fresh and had caught the Frey unawares. They cut down their opposition with little difficulty, and soon the right flank of the Riverlander host was stuck between the men they had originally surrounded and this new fresh squad. They had two choices now, stay and die fighting, or flee for their lives. They chose to flee.

With the right flank gone, Aldrich's own men could now finally put all their focus on one side, and soon they were aided by the mounted forces and the new allies. They now had numerical advantages, and they made quick work of the left flank. Aldrich almost cried out in jubilation as what remained of the Frey turned and fled back where they had come, chasing after the men who and fled first.

Soon there was quiet, or quiet besides the sounds of the wounded. Some of his men were bent over their wounded comrades, trying as best as they could to offer assistance. The giant walked towards him, his axes now holstered on belts behind his back. On his left was a young looking warrior who had the mousy features of a Frey about him, pale skin and brown hair. But he wore Lannister red, as did the other man on the giant's right.

"Well met my lord." Called the young lad in greeting when they finally reached him. Damon and Darvin had immediately moved to shield him from these men, though he impatiently pushed them aside. These people had not only saved them, but some of them were now providing assistance to the wounded wherever they could, although some seemed too busy looting off the dead bodies.

"Well met…soldier…" He didn't know what else to call this man, so that would have to do.

It was the young lad that addressed him, although the other two did not look upon him as a superior or much of an equal either. It was almost as though they had yet to decide themselves. But the lad was clearly their spokesperson.

"Forgive us for joining this battle so late, but we had a hard march coming here and we had to divide this amour amongst ourselves as best as we could." The lad spoke in soft respectful tones; Aldrich found that he rather appreciated that, his own tension easing with each passing second.

"So you're not Westerlander men then?" He already knew they were not of course; the armour they wore had no doubt belonged to Olver's men.

"No, I'm afraid not. We chose to wear this amour so it would be easier to assist you without any accidents happening." The lad answered; his tone apologetic and polite.

"And what happened to those who wore that amour previously?" Asked Damon in a dangerous tone, and Aldrich only now noticed that he and Darvin still had their swords in hand.

"Dead I'm afraid. There were a surprising amount of battles up ahead, so many dead, so many to take from. My own forces even ran in to trouble, but were rescued, just as you have been now." The lad still spoke in that same tone, even admitting his part in the deaths of their fellow soldiers he had no worry.

He had no reason to be worried. The three of them might be enough to kill Aldrich, Darvin and Damon if they wished. And their own men were fresh and nearly whole, while his were exhausted and had suffered grievous losses.

And, if he was honest with himself, Aldrich did not care. He was more curious as to who these men were than he cared about Olver and his men.

"So I take it you're the leader then?" Aldrich asked pointedly, though again he doubted it. His doubts were vindicated when the other two eyed the young lad, as though daring him to say he was.

"No; not exactly. The leader of these two men is injured unfortunately, couldn't come here himself. If he had, dare I say we might have finished this battle with much less losses." There was a note of near reverence in the tone of the lad; that same reverence shone in the eyes of the other two.

A powerful leader who could inflict reverent loyalty in the heart of his men, such was a man Aldrich was very eager to meet. He would weigh and judge the man, should he prove himself worthy, Aldrich might even offer him his counsel and what remained of his men. If not, then these men would be judged and punished for the massacre of Lannister soldiers.

"Take me to your leader."

* * *

And that's it, next chapters will be absent of battles for a while as I focus more on the characters.

Thank you to everyone who has still stuck around and is reading this, I do this for you guys. And myself. Mostly for me.

I must warn you all that no one has a more pathetic understanding and memory of maps, distance and locations than me. As such, I will have castles where they probably shouldn't be and people will move traverse between point A and B faster or slower than what everyone is used to. If I could, I would avoid it, but I cannot. I forget stuff far too easily, sometimes even the names of my own characters.

* * *

**And now for a little explanation: **Robb and his men have been at Oldstones or the area around it for some time now. They saw the first Frey host coming and did their best to slow them down, traps and guerrilla tactics at night. This was because they were trying to sell the stuff they had and maybe use that money to make Oldstones a bit more defensible for them by the time the Freys arrive.

Then the Lannister host arrived, now suddenly Robb and his men did not know what to do, they were not too sure if they were allies or not. So when the first battle broke out, it was here that Robb understood that the two factions might actually have a divide. That's when he and his men go to the right side of the woods and wait for anyone to ambush that might pass by. And finally, someone did. It didn't have to be the Westerlanders, they would have sprung that trap on Frey men too if they had come by.

After that, half their numbers cross over while the other stays in the right. Both sides wear different amour, this is because they want to confuse the enemy, so that when they attack, neither side really knows who to fight or who their ally is.

Robb and his men decide to attack the Lannisters and not the Freys because they wanted to be needed and indebted. So they attack the side that is obviously going to win and thus win not feel any gratitude towards them at all.

Then they attack the Freys, all of them wearing Lannister amour because they had been watching both forces and Robb was able to tell that the bigger and better prepared Frey host would win here. So they chose to assist the Westerlanders.

And also, Robb had deduced that this Westerlander commander might not be too bad considering he had chosen not to rush forward to the aid of Olver and had even given his men a good rest to enjoy themselves before they had to go risk their lives. So this man would owe them more and might be easier to speak with.

Robb's bandits are growing in numbers at an alarming rate, but he still wants more than just them, so he is recruiting and trying to make allies, even with the people he hates.

Robb was injured in the fight against Olver so he couldn't fight here, he headed back to Oldstones with a few of his men before the battle began, so next chapter Olyver and Gulf and the others will be taking Aldrich there as well to meet him.

**But like I already said, this will be said next chapter as well, though not in as much detail.**

* * *

**Read and Review**

**P.S: **I'm very busy and when I have free time I choose to spend it just lazing around. As such I only post infrequently, sometimes months in between.

But still, if anyone is willing to help me with this story, I would actually appreciate having a beta. If you're able to help me with both this story and my Harry Potter then all the better.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, this chapter is mostly just talking and talking, no action at all.

The walls of Oldstones are still destroyed and all that stands now is the castle, but barely. It looks about ready to topple at the slightest of wind and would probably never hold against any attack. But the bandits need somewhere to call home, or at least a haven.

**Disclaimer:**Still have no rights to any of the locations, characters or the world. Besides those I made up myself.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7- So Many Questions**

One hundred, the number of dead rounded up to one hundred. Fifty wounded. In just one battle Aldrich had lost nearly half his forces. It was unacceptable. And it stung even more to know that they all would have died had they not been rescued.

Their rescuers had been mighty gracious, accepting their gratitude magnanimously even as they looted off the dead and stripped the dead Frey men of their amour and weapons. They even sent out men to chase after the horses that had fled. These men had fought as one, seemingly well trained, but some of them acted no better than bandits.

Yet even these bandit-like men had that reverence for their leader. They wouldn't give him a name no matter how many times he asked; they just kept calling him the Lord Stranger. He'd been tempted to bribe the name out of them.

The young leader with them turned out to be a son of Walder Frey, though what he was doing here and why he had assisted in the defeat of his kin the boy was tight lipped. They all had a rather simple view of the world in his opinion, their Lord Stranger would explain everything, and he just had to be patient until he meets the man.

At first he'd worried that they would demand that his men remain behind, but they not only accepted his request to bring them all with him to Oldstones, they actually encouraged it. Either they believed that they would be able to easily defeat his forces anyway should a fight break out, or they felt that he would be persuaded by their Lord Stranger.

So for four days they travelled rather slowly, resting for hours to take care of the wounded and bury the dead. Along the way they came across other mass graves and other signs of large battles, crows and ravens still circled above some of these locations. But there was no amour remaining, no swords or spears either. Not even a single coin. These men knew how to loot.

Oldstones turned out to be a rather direr base than he had expected. Situated on top of a hill and surrounded by trees of different kinds, the right man might know how to make it defensible enough. But without walls or towers to garrison and defend, only the old castle remained. And it looked as though any strong wind might blow it away.

The castle was covered nearly from top to bottom with vines and moss and was riddled with cracks and holes. He couldn't see the roof from where they were but he would guess that once inside he would find it either completely destroyed or close enough. Perhaps once this might have truly been a sit of power, but now it was just pathetic.

"With more time we could have turned this place around, or come close enough to it. We've been cutting down trees and trying to build some fences. Perhaps inn time we might even build something big enough to resemble a wall and towers." One of the men accompanying him said, a tall man so skinny that his clothes hung like ragged blankets on his frame.

He'd given his name as **Martin Leygood**.

"I don't think that's a safe idea do you? At some point you would expect the wood to dry and eventually become rather easy to burn. With wooden defenses you might as well be doing half the enemy's work for them." Damon commented, looking around him with disdain that he did not bother hiding.

"I suppose that's true, but see we're also cutting down green leaves as well and applying sap almost regularly, by the time everything dries up we'll have enough money to do what we want." Martin replied, not at all bothered with their clear lack of awe. This skinny white haired man was not one to be put down by mere words.

"So you plan on staying here then? To make this place some king od base?" Aldrich questioned.

"Probably not, maybe a safe haven we can fall back to every now and then, but certainly not some permanent place. We're a travelling lot; we'd never allow ourselves to be trapped here." Replied Martin dismissively.

This reply only raised questions in Aldrich's head. What exactly were these men or what were they planning to be. They were clearly more than mere bandits, but counting those who had accompanied and those he was seeing around the ruined fortress; they lacked the numbers to ever become much of a hired army.

Not to mention that a majority of their numbers were the new Frey unit made up of boys. So far, Aldrich was not impressed.

"The Lord Stranger will be pleased to meet you, word already came down that he is waiting inside, though we'll have to ask that you go in alone. He got injured in the fighting you see, so we don't want to overwhelm him with possible enemies" The man that spoke was not one who had travelled with.

He stood before the gaping hole that had once been the doorway of the ruined castle, both his hands were held behind his back and his light brown hair was tied behind in a ponytail. Those green eyes of his regarded them as though he was dissecting every piece of them from head to toe. He had an intelligence and bearing about him that was lacking in the others.

"Not happening; we will not allow our lord to go in that death trap of a building without us." Darvin growled in warning, almost immediately his hands reached for his sword. Darvin was too quick to reach for that sword, even now, surrounded by enemies, he still sought violence first.

"Sadly, we have to insist, this meeting will only be between the Lord Stranger, the Frey commander lad and you Westerlander. If you refuse you might as well turn back now and go back to where you came from. No comprise." The man still spoke in that formal tone of his, his voice bordering on polite and hard though his face had not changed at all from its calm demeanour.

"It's fine Darvin, Damon, if they wanted to hurt or kill us they would have done it by now. I'm curious for this meeting to begin and see this acclaimed Stranger for myself." With that, Aldrich slid off his horse and walked towards the opening, the young Frey was already waiting for him just inside.

The men had clearly done their best to clean the place, the dead leaves inside had been gathered in the corners and sides and some places were covered with blankets. Perhaps the men slept on those leaves? He hadn't seen any beds or cots yet.

The floor and the walls showed signs of scrapes and recent work, perhaps days had been spent trying to remove whatever had clung on them, though weeds and vines were still evident.

There were new wooden structures as well, tables and chairs and doors inside. Some of the wood had been used to reinforce places where the wall had crumbled away. All in all, the place looked like a green ghost castle struggling fruitlessly to come back to life.

"I heard some of the men say they plan to put their money into fixing this place, they say it would be a good place to hide out in or even rent out." Whispered Olyver Frey, the young Frey lord leading him deeper in.

The stairs they came by were broken and looked far too dangerous to climb, so he was rather grateful when he was lead past them to a spacious room with a large table in the middle. The table was made of oak and was old, though still strong. Old and new chairs surrounded it, perhaps in another time this might have been a conference room and the table where for important men and women.

Now, there was only one figure there, situated at the head of the table with papers scattered before him. He was bent over some of them, scribbling away when they came in.

Among those papers Aldrich saw maps and finance ledgers, as well as what he assumed to be a roll call and payment lists. He highly doubted bandits bothered with such formalities, so this image before him was yet another contradiction to his many assumptions.

"Ah yes, forgive me for the delay, we seem to be getting a lot of business lately and I have to keep order as best as I can." The strangers said in a thick voice and finally stood to look at the two of them. Aldrich could immediately tell that the man favoured his left leg but did not bother to use the cane leaning against the table.

He was tall, taller than Aldrich and but below Darvin. He wore grey shirtsleeves and black breeches, and through that Aldrich could tell he was nothing but hard muscle, it all but rippled as he moved.

He had long dark red hair that fell past his shoulders and covered his ears. His beard was covered the bottom half of his face and fell down his throat. The body, the hair and the beard made him look no different from the other ruffians who followed him, but his eyes were different.

Blue like ice and hard, they regarded him with a natural command and aura of power. This was clearly a man used to being in charge and used to having men follow him. He held himself with a quiet but haunted pride, perhaps that of a proud man facing the gallows.

Or broken but not shattered.

"Think nothing of it, your men were quick to warn me of how busy it can get for you." Aldrich assured, though this was of course a lie. His men had said nothing of the such. The main raised one red eyebrow and his blue eyes sparkled in disbelief for a second, managing to look like ice submerged in a pool.

"Well, my men do like to say quite a lot about me." There was no mockery in voice of his, only light amusement. The men held him in high esteem and he knew that, but he did not gloat or bask in it.

He was used to being held in such regard then, perhaps he'd been in charge of these men for years?

"Please, have a seat. Ignore all the papers, I should have had Semar remove them before you arrived." His voice had immediately changed from hard and gruff, to polite and welcoming. Perhaps he had experience with other leaders as well then?

Aldrich himself took his time to settle into his seat at the right of the table while the boy Frey lord all but bounded over to his. The boy looked upon this stranger with eyes one might expect to see from someone looking at a hero. It was likely they had a prior relationship before all the fighting had begun?

"I'm thankful to you both for being here, to be honest I had not expected us to play host to Frey and Lannister men like this." There was no nervousness in his voice but Aldrich was still able to discern barely contained disdain at those names.

He had a history with Lannisters and Freys then? Or maybe only one of the two? But then which one? So many questions.

"To be honest, neither did I. I had set out to find and destroy Frey and Bolton men that had been threatening our supplies, I had not expected…all of this." Aldrich replied in a casual voice, the casualness enhanced by him gesturing around them with a weave of his hand.

He knew the motion wasn't all that formal or regal or commanding, but this man had him off his game. He'd only ever come across a being with such quiet charisma and authority thrice in his entire life, but this one here was different even from them.

Perhaps he was a fallen lord then? Or one in hiding? Or maybe a son of a lord tasked with leading this wild band? So many questions.

"We didn't do any of that; we only came here to hunt for bandits." The young Frey argued with a rather petulant voice, his face looking extremely offended.

It was this that gave Aldrich some peace of mind and reassurance here. At least the boy wasn't dripping authority too; at least Aldrich carried himself better.

"I'm afraid that was us, we had to do what we could you see, bandits have to survive however they can and we are men of honour. Can't expect us to rob the poor smallfolk, they have enough troubles to deal with." Again, there was no nervousness in the stranger's tone, only amused irony.

Aldrich almost came out and called him a liar, there was no way they could be bandits. They fought as one, they looked after each other and they had mourned their losses. Some of them even carried themselves with pride. Surely no band could be like that?

But perhaps they were that way because they lead by this fallen lord? Someone of his bearing would surely rub off on his men.

"You would so readily confess to such crimes before me? What would you do if I decided to take this information back with me?" Aldrich questioned in what he was hoping sounded more like mere curiosity. He was not unsettled, not yet.

Involuntarily however, his hands quivered for a moment. He itched to hold a cup in his hands, something to distract me from all this. But alas, his hosts were apparently bandits; one had no choice but to forgive their ignorance of such common regularities.

"We wouldn't stop you at all, you're not prisoners here. But something tells me that you can be convinced otherwise." The stranger responded. Aldrich only now realized that the man had still not given his name but no doubt his men had told him what Aldrich's name was.

He couldn't help but feel this gave the stranger some power, maybe control over the situation. He knew Aldrich, but Aldrich didn't know him. And this was no doubt meant to be a conference of three leaders, an illusion of three equals. Yet the Frey boy regarded the stranger with even more reverence than his own men did.

There were no equals here, the stranger held all the information he wanted and had captured his curiosity even before they had met.

"Oh? And what makes you think I can be convinced otherwise?" Oh how he longed for something to hold, so that his hands would have something to do instead of just lying on the table so uselessly. He was beginning to fidget.

"You strike me as someone who is looking for something, someone who has yet to make up their mind on what their role is in the world. You don't strike as someone who is buying the plans you all have down there as much as you should; otherwise why else would you be so curious to risk everything to meet me here, why else would you allow your supposed comrade to march on ahead of you and not rush to his aid when his battles begun.

I'm hoping I can convince you to join me Lord Aldrich, I would very much appreciate your help, and I in turn would give you what you have sought for so long." The stranger's eyes seemed to pierce Aldrich's soul as he spoke, that voice of his enchanting him, forcing him to hang on to every word.

The stranger wanted him to believe he was uncovering his very being, but surely he was not. Not even Aldrich knew what his soul wanted, no way would this stranger.

"And what is it that I desire?" He asked in an almost whisper of a voice, almost begging the man to answer him.

It was when the man's satisfied smile spread his lips that he realized he had been baited and fallen for it.

* * *

Could he trust Olyver? That question plagued Robb's mind for days on end since being reunited with the lad days ago.

Yes, the irony was not lost on him, the leader of bandits. But he understood the bandits, they wanted money and power, they wanted to be renowned and safe, they wanted to be legends. And so far, he was giving them all that.

So as long as he continued providing better than any ever had, the band would stay loyal to him. They would never usurp his control; no man who tried that would receive any support. But Olyver was different.

True the lad had once been a trusted and true squire, but that was a lifetime ago. Multiple lifetimes ago. Yes Olyver hadn't participated in the Red Wedding from what he remembered, but that didn't mean he was unaware of everything.

And yet, like now, the boy looked at him with respect and devotion. The boy had been so excited he'd fainted when they first reunited. And when he woke up, he came close to biting his own tongue trying to reassure him and apologizing for the disgrace committed by his family all the while his face streaming with tears of clear joy.

So he didn't know if he could trust the boy, but he would accept him. He would keep him close, and this time he would keep a very keen eye on him. Olyver came with a unit that surpassed Robb's own numbers; the lad could no longer be underestimated.

But if the boy proved himself as loyal and devoted as he claimed, then Robb could have use of the numbers. In fact, the added numbers moved his plans forward by months.

And now he had even more numbers from the Westerlander. Robb had no doubt that he had the man, now he would just need to deploy him in a way that would prove to surpass his expectations in ways that he had been far from anticipating.

Robb Stark, leader of bandits and Frey men and Lannister men. Oh how he had fallen.

But things were going to change, revenge and justice would be his; these two men with him would assist him in that. It would be a long and hard road, but he now had the means to navigate it.

* * *

"Was it all part of your plan, for everything to come together like it did on the road here?" Aldrich asked.

The stranger promised him that he could be there to watch his plans unfold, but he still wasn't too sold on everything just yet. He had to first understand how the man operated. But at the moment, he was swayed. Only time would tell if the stranger really was going to give him what he desired.

"No, perhaps I could have planned it all with the right resources, a proper army and the right influence. As it is, I had to rely quite heavily on luck." The stranger answered with a laugh full of mirth. The man was proving to be quite honest, perhaps even a little too much. Or perhaps that was part of his plan? To show them that he trusted them, get them to lower their guard around him?

"For days we did everything we could to slow down the two hundred men coming here, but that was so we could remove any traces of our stay here and buy time for those who were away on business. Then, by what was pure coincidence to us, the Westerlander host just arrived.

"To be perfectly honest, we didn't choose sides either, we just chose to assist whoever was in need when the time came." The stranger said, again with that honesty. Though this time, he didn't say everything.

Aldrich was certain that it was more than just choosing whoever was in need; it was about saving those who would be indebted to him. It was obvious but was smart, very smart.

"It was only when the battles were about to unfold did we then choose which colours to wear and how to attack and when. Like I said, a lot of it was guess work, coincidence and pure luck. If things had gone wrong, we might have been wiped out there." It seemed the stranger had no quarrels about admitting his luck and avoided giving himself and his men unwarranted credit.

Olyver was eating it all up; it seemed the young Frey did not believe in coincidences or luck. Or perhaps he did not believe that this stranger could rely purely on those things. His devotion to this man was bordering on worship, it was a bit unsettling.

But Aldrich too knew that it couldn't have all been luck. He could accept that in the bandits' first battle they had simply attacked whoever had come by them and their trap first, but after that there was a plan in motion.

They clearly chose to wear Frey and Lannister colours and then attack from different sides to confuse Olver and Olyver. In those circumstances it would have been difficult for either side to know who to attack or who not to. Who was an ally and who was the enemy.

Then when Aldrich was pinned, they most likely waited until the moment when he was about to lose hope before jumping in, giving him the ray of light he had so desperately needed, wearing Lannister colours so Aldrich's men would trust them much easier and much quicker.

And now he owed the stranger for saving his life and the lives of his men. In one day he truly had all but secured himself additional forces and the aid of two people with some semblance of influence in their respective camps and who both had reservations about the leadership.

This stranger was good, much more subtle and perhaps smarter than Baldwin. Maybe it would be best indeed to see how far he can go.

"What I don't understand is; where are the Bolton men? Are they a part of your army too?" Aldrich asked. At the moment this question was meant to distract himself from the fact that he now understood he was willing to follow this man.

He should probably be ashamed of it all, him being swayed to side with a bandit lord so easily, but he wanted to see where the men was going and he wanted to be right there for the road. And the man understood what he himself desired, or perhaps he would show him.

"Gone back home I'm afraid, though sadly not all of them. For some reason men dressed in Lannister colours kept attacking them along the way." The stranger's face had twisted in distaste at the mere mention of the Boltons, and now there was a cold satisfaction behind his eyes.

A man who possibly harboured hatred for Lannisters, Freys and Boltons. Put those things together and you get either a Riverlander loyal to Starks or a Northerner loyal to Starks. So which was the stranger? The questions just kept piling up.

"And I suppose you're going to want us to stay here with you along with our men then?" Aldrich asked, though he wasn't too sure there would be room for nearly four hundred men here.

"No; I need you each to leave ten men and two horses, then you will head back to where you came from. For now, we will find ways to correspond, and I will summon you back when your missions are complete or some drastic changes are needed."

At this, Aldrich exchanged a glance with the young Frey; Olyver. Neither of them particularly liked the thought of being separated. Aldrich because he wanted to watch the stranger work and be there whenever something significant happens, and Olyver probably because he didn't want to be separated from his idol.

"And you are certain that you can find secure means of communication? If we're caught exchanging correspondence with bandits it would mean both our heads and burn your plans to the ground." Olyver put in, the concern very clear in his voice. He seemed more worried about ruining the stranger's plans than losing his head.

Such devotion was worrying; would Aldrich himself end up like this as well?

"Trust me Olyver, I am not the man I once was. I will not risk everything on just one single plan that can so easily be turned against me by others. I have other plans should this one fail, when the time comes, we will leave the Riverlands. But when we do, we will do so will do so with an army, or as close to an army as we can get." The stranger assured with an almost eager smile gracing his lips.

When he first arrived here Aldrich would have perhaps wondered what a bandit lord could possibly want with an army, but now he was beginning to understand a few things, and if his assumptions were right, he couldn't wait to see it all unfold.

* * *

And that's that. As I said, this chapter was mostly questions and vague answers, sorry but I will not reveal what convinced Aldrich for a while yet.

Right now, Robb has created two boxes in his head, two bubbles or dimensions rather. Almost like two different personalities. In one of them, he is the depressed and suicidal deposed King of the North and the Trident. In this bubble he would have never been able to lead men again and might have collapsed along with the whole band, dragging the men who now trusted him down with him.

Then there is another bubble, in this one he is the new lord stranger of this band, a vicious and cunning bandit leader who is doing his best to get revenge, money and power. He is not satisfied with just a few hundred men yet, he wants thousands, and he knows just how to get them. Though it will not all go according to plan.

In one box he is weighed down by his failures and honour binds him to live in regret of his mistakes and the lives it cost him.

In the other box he is honourable to his men and those he considers allies, but he will not allow it to bind him. He will think beyond honour and duty for the greater good.

**Read and Review.**

**P.S: **I'm very busy and when I have free time I choose to spend it just lazing around. As such I only post infrequently, sometimes months in between.

But still, if anyone is willing to help me with this story, I would actually appreciate having a beta. If you're able to help me with both this story and my Harry Potter then all the better.


	8. Chapter 8

Things are still a bit calm here, I'm afraid it will be a bit of a slow burn to get the story where I want it.

In this chapter, just like before and some of those to come, Robb and his plans will have a considerable amount of luck, so much so that characters will start believing there is some kind of divine interference. However, that luck will run out eventually.

**Disclaimer**: Do not own or profit from Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire

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**CHAPTER 8- For the Greater Good (I) **

The grim atmosphere hung like a heavy drape over the room. Not a single person in the room was unaffected, not a single one of them remained undisturbed.

This was the day after Aldrich and his men had come back 'home'; though it didn't feel much like home at the moment. This meeting had been delayed so it could be held at a more opportune time with all the remaining captains present with their aids.

"How can this be?" Asked Millcar, a stutter barely contained.

The man child was pale and his grey eyes wide with shock and fear. He never was close to Olver or his men, yet the news of his demise hit him the hardest.

Millcar was craven, unfit to lead his men and it was no wonder they had been petitioning to leave him and join Aldrich or Olver for weeks now. One of the tasks given to Aldrich by the Stranger was to sway as many men to his side as he could.

He did not say what would happen to men he could not take charge of; but Aldrich could hazard a guess. The Stranger wanted this place, or maybe he wanted to see them gone. He was certainly working against its prosperity.

"I am not here to lie to you all. What I said is the truth, I myself only survived because I got there too late. Otherwise I too would have been caught by the force of the trap." Aldrich sat with Damon and Darvin at his sides, a glass in his grateful hands.

He had once prided himself in his honesty, and yet here he was now lying to these people with ease. Though perhaps it was more rather he was twisting the truth while still speaking it.

"Olver always was a proud fool; it is not unexpected that he would blindly rush into danger without bothering to work with anyone. His ambitions ran too deep." Sebast stated in that deep voice of his. The captain in charge of supplies was the least affected, his units had suffered most at the hands of the enemy and he had never cared much for it.

Like Millcar; his men had wanted to leave his side for a while now. While Millcar was a despised coward, Sebast was a loathed sadist. His methods were too extreme and very few among his men approved of them.

But he brought results, so not a single captain challenged him. Though it seemed Aldrich would have no choice but to now. Baldwin was not all that beloved here, he held power because he had the most numbers and the other captains did not like or trust one another enough to combine forces.

If Aldrich could somehow take command of Millcar and Sebast's forces, he might have what he needs to take over this place. That would surely reduce the damage and casualties the Stranger no doubt plans to inflict upon little Wet Hill.

"Still, he was one of the best we had and his troops numbered four hundred. Walder Frey is most certainly committed to whatever he is doing." Baldwin put in, his face was scrunched up in that way of his whenever he was truly disturbed.

Baldwin had never trusted Olver and might have even enjoyed his death, but the fact that his men had all been wiped out too clearly worried him. For his many faults, Aldrich could not accuse him of not appreciating every man in the camp. Outside of those currently seated around the oak wood table.

"Aldrich claims that Bolton men were in assistance as well and now hold Oldstones. Walder Frey is a cautious coward; he is most certainly not the one leading this whole conflict." Adan Fling said, his arms folded over his thin frame as that always did when in deep thought.

"Do you have an idea for a plan forward?" Camren Bailer asked, he too recognised Flint's tells.

Camren Bailer was one of Sebast's aids, a lecherous sadist with a keen mind. He was dangerous and would have to be removed. Luckily he had even less love and respect than Sebast.

"I believe our next course of action should be clear; we have to sack Oldstones and burn it to the ground along with all Northerners inside!" Flint declared with vicious conviction.

Not a single man there flinched or paled, none of them were appalled by this plan. Some may have already been thinking it.

"Olver and I suffered for our pride and lack of coordination. I propose that only one captain should march upon Oldstones." Aldrich put in softly; though inside his heart beat with excitement.

"If two could not work, one certainly will not." Millcar countered with a nervous laugh. Of everyone here, only he and Baldwin were yet to suffer under this 'Bolton-Frey coalition'.

"But like I said; we couldn't work together and not a single person here can dispute the fact that none of us can find a way to work as a unit. If more than one captain goes out there: it might lead to disaster again." Aldrich could see it now; a way to get rid of the prideful Baldwin.

He would not enjoy what had to be done, but it was necessary.

"But surely the numbers are against us. Walder Frey must have called upon half his levies to be able to defeat us so soundly. None of us here can withstand a force of two thousand alone." Charles Horpe put in. There was a gleam in the man's eyes as he looked from Aldrich to Baldwin. He had caught on, but Aldrich was not bothered.

Horpe was one of Baldwin's two lieutenants; but unlike Adan Flint this man had ambition. He worked well with Baldwin, enough to fool both Baldwin and Flint, but Aldrich always knew he would not hesitate to betray the captain if it meant gain.

"Frey soldiers suffered heavy defeats and what remained fled back home. Only a few hundred of them were present to begin with which makes sense. A few hundred is better than thousands considering all the covert attacks that have plagued Sebast's squad.

I suspect the northerners number no more than one hundred at this point; though we can't discount the possibility that they may be reinforced by a few hundred Frey soldiers." Aldrich was laying trap, and even as he spoke his eyes kept settling significantly on Charles Horpe. He needed the man to work with him here in order to make this work.

"This means that it would be unwise to send in a single team but sending in more than one might lead to a lack of order. And only our squad has the man power, experience and leadership to handle the situation alone." Horpe surmised, although perhaps too eagerly.

Still, Aldrich would owe the man if this all fell in to place. Baldwin was cautious but brave and struggled to contain his pride.

"But surely you cannot expect the lord commander of this camp to lead an expedition into enemy territory by himself." Sebast countered with a frown.

The man was smart and Aldrich had expected him to catch on. Sebast no doubt desired overall command as well, but he must know at some level that he lacked the support for it.

Yes; without Olver and Baldwin he would only have to compete against Aldrich. But even his own men wanted to leave him, how could he hope to gain the support of everyone else?

Sebast, shorter than the average man at the camp but lean with green eyes, tan skin dotted with freckles and red hair; was perhaps too much of a sadist for his own good.

"I will go, but I will not go alone. Four hundred of my men will accompany me and Flint while Charles Horpe will stay here in command of my men and camp in my stead. Millcar will remain here with Cader Whent but Steffon Warth will join me with two hundred men." Baldwin declared with finality, his commanding voice sending shivers down Aldrich's spine.

He did not know whether it was from joy that his plan was succeeding, or maybe a small part in him was impressed and a little regretful to recognize the clear command Baldwin held about him.

"We will need proper supplies and men to look after them; so I will take fifty of Sebast's men to assist as well but his lieutenants can stay here with him. I will also need twenty of Aldrich's men, surely no one among us knows the roads to Oldstones better than they and they might see traps that were sprung upon them before." Baldwin continued, his gaze sweeping through the room, searching for any man brave an disloyal enough to challenge his command.

Aldrich had to give him credit, he had done well. Millcar had paled considerably and Sebast looked about ready to argue. Aldrich himself chose not to react at all.

Charles Horpe turned his black eyes down, no doubt to hide his joy, brushed his bald scalp with his tan right hand. He used to be a rather good fighter before he lost his left hand, now he preferred to command his men from behind.

But his muscles were yet to disappear fully; he had a body of a seasoned fighter still.

"We will prepare before leaving in five days' time, I would like you three to select the men for this expedition. Meeting adjourned." And that was that, Baldwin himself got up first and exited the room with his aids close behind him.

Aldrich was the last one out, his mind too troubled by what he now knew would come.

For the greater good, those were the words the Stranger and his men threw around. It was perhaps a mantra for them, maybe something to help them deal with the deeds they committed.

So it was for the greater good that things had fallen into place so soon and so well. It was for the greater good that Baldwin especially would no doubt be facing certain death soon.

Aldrich would not mourn for Baldwin, but he certainly did not want part in sending the man to his death. And despite his faults; Baldwin was a good man in some deep down part of him who actually cared about this camp more than anyone.

Aldrich himself just wanted to be part k something big; he merely wanted to be part of building something great. A part of him yearned to prove himself before the eyes of his family so much it disgusted him. Another piece of him wanted to experience what being on the "good side" was like.

But he knew that it was either this or the Stranger and his men would soon be coming here in person. If that happened; the casualties would be so much more than just a few important captains and their lieutenants.

Of course, it also wasn't lost to him that he was committing treason. He was a Westerlander, one who had all but sworn himself to the aid of one of the worst enemies the Westerlands had come against in generations.

It was quite hard to believe at first, but he was certain of it now. It explained his aura of command, power and natural charisma. It explained the man's great knowledge of battles and how easily he turned a random rag tag group of bandits into good soldiers.

It explained why the Stranger did not give away his name, yet Olyver Frey looked to him with such devotion.

It explained why the Bolton men had stayed behind patrolling these lands. They were looking for someone, someone important.

It could only be a Stark loyalist from the north; otherwise the Freys would search for any Riverlord on their own.

But Olyver wouldn't worship any mere lord from the north, the boy had once been the squire of the Young Wolf after all.

And the Boltons or the Freys would have told the Lannisters if they were looking for some random lord. But they had chosen to hide this fact; because the implications would be disastrous. Might even disrupt whatever peace and power the Lannisters were to settle over the realm.

Robb Stark. Dark red hair, striking blue eyes and a born commander hiding behind an alias.

Aldrich was aiding Robb Stark, the vexation of the Lannisters and villain of the Westerlands. Yet he did not care, he only wanted to see how far the Young Wolf could go this time.

* * *

Their lord would be pleased with them; they had done something that the Bolton and Frey men had been struggling with for far too long. They had captured the leader of the band that had been terrorizing these lands.

Six mounted men lead the prisoner. One rode ahead to watch for any oncoming threats while one legged back for any rear threats. The prisoner walked between four other mounted men with his hands tied by two ropes held by two knights.

The man walked with broad shoulders high, somehow managing to look regal and proud despite his dirty grey clothes and unkempt mop of hair.

He walked with big strides, somehow managing to keep up with the strides of the horses without having to be jostled along.

His head was held high, though his dark red hair was long enough to fall over his face and his large beard hid the rest. But even through all that, his eyes had been easy to see. Blue as ice, those eyes seemed to gaze through a person, to peer at the soul itself and judge their sins.

This was a dangerous man, but they had him and would soon be delivering him to their lord. Certainly lord Mallister would enjoy achieving this fit over the Freys by personally putting an end to this man's terror.

Yes, the bandit had been foolish enough to allow himself to be caught alone and unawares. And now, he would come to regret it. Seagard would not be kind to those who terrorized for pleasure.

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Alright, I just want to warn everyone that a lot of this story will follow only Robb and those most impacted by him, thus mostly his subordinates. However, once word gets out about his survival, his impact will reach far enough that I will then add other POV characters. Most of who will be already established characters, including the Lannisters.

I also have to apologize because a lot of what will be happening at first here will seem like too much luck or coincidence, but this is planned as it might perhaps lead the characters to suspect some divine interference?

* * *

As always: Read and Review


	9. Chapter 9

And here is another slow burn chapter, still in the Riverlands and still laying the ground work I'm afraid.

**Disclaimer**: Same as previous chapters and those to come, I dot own or financially benefit from Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire.

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**CHAPTER 9- How may I serve the Crown?**

The darkness and quiet of the dungeons was almost welcome to him. It gave him a peace that he could utilize to organize his thought.

He could never be accused of not appreciating his men, because he did, but they were a loud and energetic bunch. It is a tad difficult to have some required peace among them.

Today he would be meeting Lord Jason Malister, and if all goes well, he and his men would soon be leaving the Riverlands. This was something that had crossed his mind many times over.

He thought about riding north and raising his armies again. With him coming out, surely lords would rise to his side and banish the Boltons for good? But what good would that do? The Lannister-Tyrell coalition would just march into the Riverlands and close him off from heading back down south.

He'd just be redoing what he did before but now with fewer men and less morale. His enemies had multiplied and become stronger while he was crippled. He could no longer defeat the Lannisters with just the north and he could not rely on the Riverlords.

He could retake the Riverlands from the Freys by freeing his uncle Edmure and other Tully loyalists, but that wouldn't work well either. He would have to leave the Riverlands to go retake the north and thus leave them to the mercy of his enemies.

At best he might be able to raise perhaps one or two thousand men on his own, enough for a sell swords army but not enough to challenge the West or the South. And there was no war right now; no one Westeros needed sell swords.

Except perhaps Stannis Baratheon; but he would soon rather burn Robb at the stake than allow his men to fight for him. And even if he joined Stannis, won every battle and slaughtered all their enemies, Stannis would never allow for the independence of the north.

And the man was infamous for his profound lack of mercy. He might just choose to have his sister Sansa executed simply because she is to be married to a Lannister now.

There was also the small matter of no one knowing where Stannis and his remaining men are.

So he could not find help here, it was a difficult realization to come to but one he had now accepted. So he needed men, men that could fight and would prove themselves useful. Then he would need ships to sail those men. And sailors to sail those ships.

He had never been on a ship before and did not trust the navigation skills of his men. So he had to come here, to Seagard.

This was a gamble he had to take, ever since he received the letter from Aldrich Darion.

"You awake in there?" A voice called to him as a small light bobbed towards him. He did not shy away or react at all; he'd been waiting for this.

"The Lord Malister will see you now, stranger." The man holding the lamp had dark brown eyes that looked down at him with loathing. He was just a lowly bandit after all, what right did he have to request audience with the Lord of Seagard?

"Thank you very much, we have much to discuss he and I." Robb tried to be as polite as possible, he did not want to be considered a threat here. That might rob him the chance of an audience.

"Yeah yeah, just remember that all you talk about is the whereabouts of your men! Nothing else!" The man commanded in a rather feeble voice to Robb, he was used to dealing with actual lords who had power. This sneering fool was pathetic in comparison.

Still though, he smiled and bowed his head, the part of him that was the Lord Stranger itching to rip this man's throat out with his bare hands. It would be so easy, the fool had already let him out of his cage yet did not bother to have any backup.

Jason Malister had run a tight ship during the war, so how did he come to have such incompetent guards? Robb was supposed to be a bandit leader, surely that would call for more than a mere fool to escort him?

"Of course ser, nothing but the truth about my men's whereabouts. I'm a mere bandit, I'll do anything to look after myself." Robb Stark said in a polite voice again, but inside the Lord Stranger was raging.

As he was lead to Jason Malister, he took the time to study himself mentally. He had no issues with his personal identity at all. He was Robb Stark of Winterfell, son of Eddard and Catlyn Stark.

But among his new men and allies, he was the Lord Stranger. The time would come however when he would need a new alias.

He could not deny however that he sometimes felt different, split, half-awake or drifting in his own mind. In those times, Robb Stark was an honourable deposed lord fighting against suicidal thoughts and raging self-loathing.

That Robb Stark could not possibly be a leader ever again, nothing could ever bring him out of that dark hole. But the Stranger was different.

He had charisma, charm and wit. He was confident and ruthless when needed. He could put aside honour to do horrible things because it was for the greater good and that excused them. He could sacrifice his honour and those of others if it meant getting justice. And that is exactly what he was going to do.

The problem was what would come later. The Lord Stranger was a leader of lawless men, he would never make a good king or lord. Robb Stark would have been a good king of the North, but the politics of the south could never seem to leave them alone. Sooner or later, he might have to deal with more scheming lords and would fall short, again.

So he could not rule as the Stranger and he could not rule as Robb Stark, this was a conundrum he was too reluctant to think about and thus felt it was best that he procrastinate on it as long as possible.

"You will behave in there; I will not have you showing disrespect of any kind to the lord." His guard growled in his ear, and Robb had to resist the urge to wipe off the spittle.

They had come to a stop before a brown door lacking any and all decorations or carvings. It looked as though it might have been any other door and looked no different to any of the others that they had passed on the way here. The Mallisters were not so jaded as to decorate everything in the castle.

But as soon as that door was opened; the room beyond was spacious and coloured in silvers and purples. A window near the lit hearth was opened, blowing warm air through the room.

The floor was covered with purple coloured rugs, the chairs strewn around the room were purple and silver and a purple tablecloth covered the table at the end of the room. Lamps hung on the walls.

It felt as though they had purposefully put all their colours and decorations in this study.

At the table sat Jason Mallister, easily recognizable by his mere presence. The Lord of Seagard had undergone little change since Robb last saw him, those same intelligent eyes were watching him carefully, waiting for any sign of possible danger or reason to kill him on the spot.

Jason Mallister was hardly a forgiving man or one who would stand for lawbreakers such as the Lord Stranger, it was a wonder he even agreed to speak to him. Robb bowed respectfully to the Lord of Seagard before the guard could lead him forward. This action surprised and pleased the guard, but Rob did it so could covertly remove the hair that hid most of his face. He needed Jason Mallister to recognize him.

The guard was not as rough as he had been when he shoved him forward, though a part of Robb still wanted to take the man's throat. Neither Robb nor the Stranger appreciated disrespect or cruelty for the sake of it.

He kept his head up as he was pushed towards the table, looking Jason Mallister in the eyes the whole time. At first the Lord of Seagard had not reacted, but as he got closer, Robb saw confusion, recognition, disbelief, hope, confusion again, disbelief and then acceptance pass through the man's eyes. But his impassive face remained emotionless.

"This is the leader of the bandits my lord, they call him Lord Stranger." The guard announced proudly, puffing his chest up as he spoke. Robb could not believe the nerve of the man and wondered not for the first time as to where Jason Mallister had gone wrong in his ways.

"What is your real name man?" The lord asked in his deep voice, his eyes studying Robb with full focus, he seemed intent on not missing a single spec of his face.

"I think you already know who I am my lord. Though I struggle to know who you are at the moment, the lord Mallister I used to know would never have allowed a fool such as this one to handle a dangerous criminal like myself without support." Robb couldn't help it, his lips split into a grin, his teeth showing and his eyes narrowing. It was a wolf's grin, and he was the Young Wolf.

Mallister did not react, though Robb could have sworn that the man's hands, which were balled into fists in front of him, paled after what he had just said. They all stayed that way for a moment, Jason Mallister searching for something, Robb waiting for him to react and the guard just stupid.

"You can step outside now Mick, I will speak to this prisoner alone." There was no room to argue in that commanding voice, though the guard, Mick, still looked about ready to. Bless his oblivious heart.

"Do you perhaps feel that I cannot handle a bound man by myself Mick?" The lord enquired, his sharp eyes finally moving from Robb to the guard, who cowered under that heavy gaze.

"N..no my lord. I'll be right outside the door if you need me." Mick shuffled out in a brisk pace, seeming ready to bolt.

Soon it was only Robb and Lord Mallister remaining, but Robb did not drop the pretence nor did he settle down on the chair opposite the lord until he was told to.

"I meant what I said Lord Mallister, you always seemed like a man in control and one who followed protocol and 'ran tight ship' as they say. I do not for the life of me understand why you would allow that fool outside to watch over me and why we are having this conversation in your private study instead of in the great hall." Robb said conversationally, the Stranger was in charge and he was never nervous. Always calm, even seating across a former ally who long thought he was dead.

"For the life of you…?" Mallister questioned with raised eyebrows.

"Interesting words." The silence descended upon them once more, but this time Robb was willing to let it hang. He wanted the man to ask the question himself.

"Did you come back to life?" He finally asked his voice and face cracking slightly with emotion.

"I wish I had, maybe then I might have been given some clue as to how I am supposed to proceed. But alas, I merely survived the massacre that slaughtered my army and my banner men. The massacre that killed my mother and my pregnant wife. The massacre where I lost my dire wolf and the war." The Stranger had receded now, allowing Robb Stark more control.

The cold hearted Stranger was not suited for this part of the conversation.

"I lost my only means of getting justice for my father and rescuing my sisters. For far too long I drifted, detached from the world and unable to escape my nightmares. For too long I had no idea how to proceed, I was broken and wished for nothing more than the sweet embrace of death. But now, things are different."

Now, the Stranger came back. Now was time for action, and Robb Stark was not a man of action anymore. Not yet anyway.

Jason Mallister, the Lord of Seagard, was hyperventilating. He seemed to struggle with his breath, his face pale and his hands tightened into fists that made his knuckles pop.

Then, almost staggering, he got to his feet and walked around the desk. In front of the Stranger, he knelt.

"How may I serve the crown?" He asked in a voice full of tears.

* * *

"Jason Mallister could not believe it, he might as well be seating from across a ghost. Yet he knew it was not, he knew that the man was real. It was truly hard to believe.

The King in the North yet lives!

He listened as the man explained his miraculous survival, explained how he somehow managed to avoid Frey and Bolton men for weeks even when wounded, dazed and delirious half the time. It was nothing but pure luck, or perhaps some kind of interference? Was the some higher power watching over Robb Stark after-all?

This moment was reminiscent of a dream to him.

"So you see, the bandits were a mistake that I just walked into, or rather they walked into me. But at the moment, I have use for them." Robb Stark said nonchalantly, his whole demeanour was just nonchalant. He was a changed man.

Robb Stark had always been regal and strong, straight backed and grim faced. He had been a hard man, hardened by wars and the responsibilities placed upon him. But this man here was different.

He was just as regal but in a twisted way, as though he was Robb Stark seen through a rippling lake. He spoke differently, absurdly casual in the way he spoke and his voice sounded as though laughter wasn't too far behind. He sat differently on the chair, he still commanded it and the room, but instead of being straight backed he somehow managed to remain dignified while leaning to his right a little. Or lounging rather.

His hair was longer and so was his beard, yet those eyes remained the same. Though they seemed even colder now, stronger somehow. Before they had been eyes like ice on a lake, now they were ice caps.

"Do you plan to remain roaming here in the Riverlands?" Jason Mallister finally pondered aloud.

"No, we cannot stay here forever, sooner or later we will be captured. My numbers grow big at a rapid rate; we cannot hide such force forever." The other man answered. Here he sat, in front of a Riverlord, yet spoke about his banditry without care. This was an aspect that remained passed down from the old Robb.

The man trusted his allies nearly without question. It both pleased and troubled him.

"It wasn't through the prowess of my men that you were captured was it?" Lord Mallister asked his former king, though he already knew the answer.

"Afraid not, though your men did play the part well. I needed to see you, and I figured this would be safer than just walking through the front gate." Robb Stark replied with an easy smile.

"I'm more than willing to do whatever I can to assist you, my king. But...the Lannisters have placed a noose around my neck. The further I strain my reach, the tighter it gets. At the moment...they have taken one of my sons and left a Frey host to man my castle side by side with my men. I can't do too much to help while they limit me so." Jason Mallister had never thought himself a weak man nor a coward, but what kind of man would not grieve the loss of a son?

"And I would never ask anything of you that might threaten your son my lord. If I believed that my plan had great chance of turning against you, I would never have come here. What I need, it's risky; but I need to do this.

My enemies grow stronger while I wallow out here like some common thug. I cannot allow it to go on too long, or else all will be lost to me. I do not ask you to strain yourself my lord; I ask that you allow me to.

They have my sisters, they have my father's sword, and they have my pride and my family's legacy. I cannot take then by myself, not anymore. I can no longer find allies here to help me, so I will find a mutual enemy. So I will go to the one place where I can find the help I require, even if it risks selling myself to the servitude of madness.

But I must do it, for Family, Duty, Honour and for justice. I must ask that you help me my lord, the alternative will only take me too long." It astonished him how the man before him could so easily change from a free willed law breaker at complete ease, then to a broken man on the verge of despair and tears.

Robb Stark was no longer the Young Wolf, the broken man before him whimpered and crumbled into himself as he spoke. Yet there was still great strength there, this Lord Stranger persona he had created was proof of that. What if this Stranger was a way for Robb Stark to fight on without being weighed down by his mistakes, something created so Robb Stark can fight with renewed strength?

Then what would happen once the Stranger has completed his tasks?

Surely that would mend the man he once was, perhaps this time even stronger!

Jason Mallister got to his feet once more, though this time there was strength in his steps, conviction that had abandoned him ever since losing the war and his son.

He knelt before the Broken King, the Crippled Wolf, and with a firm voice he asked:

"How may I serve the crown?"

* * *

And there you have it, still a slow burn I'm afraid. But in this chapter I pretty much spelled out what Robb's plans are. He no longer has allies here, it doesn't matter if he retakes the north, the Riverlands would get shut down from him.

He can't take the Riverlands either because at some point he would have to go back north to raise a new army, thus the Lannisters and Tyrells would just raze the Riverlands or cut him off. He can't go to the Vale because his aunt is a mad woman who refused to help him before; he can't go to Stannis because he is unpredictable and probably hates Robb Stark.

So he has to find a mutual enemy, an enemy that the Starks and the Lannisters share. Difference is, Robb has very little to lose and very little that the enemy can want. The Lannisters have it all. So why not help her take it?

As always: **Read and Review**


	10. Chapter 10

And here's chapter 10, chuck full of that pure luck that I talked about. And remember, luck eventually always runs out, so please just bear with it for a while.

**_Disclaimer_**: I do not own or financially profit on Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire

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**CHAPTER 10- The Masks we wear at the table**

Hardly a day passed before Aldrich found himself seated next to Charles Horpe at the conference table. Charles had called the remaining captains and lieutenants in for a meeting but Aldrich had chosen to meet with the man first. Charles was without allies here and who knew what might happen to Baldwin out there.

With such a reduced force, Charles himself had very little hope of forcing order should the captains rebel against him. And so that's where Aldrich himself came in.

Charles was agitated, Aldrich could see that. The man tried to keep a stoic face but Aldrich was close enough to hear his tapping foot under the table.

"You will need to do better than that when Sebast and his men arrive, if he spots any sign of weakness from you he will not hesitate to pounce." Aldrich advised as a way of opening the discussions.

Charles looked up at him; eyes roaming his face with intent suspicion as though trying to find some clue that Aldrich was attempting to trick him.

"And you won't take advantage of my weaknesses Aldrich?" Asked Charles with a sneer, and Aldrich was pleased that the man was not trying to wear any mask with him. He would rather the new lord commander hate him than be indifferent.

"How could I, when you already know mine? I am not in the same boat as you here and neither are you in mine, but we can both cause trouble for one another or we can work together to steady this camp and keeps things in control." Aldrich replied, taking a sip of his drink to hide the smirk on his face.

This is what drinks were for during meetings: to hide one's emotions when the mask slipped. Perhaps that is why there were no drinks when speaking to the Lord Stranger? Mayhap he wanted to remove the many ways for someone to hide their feelings and emotions from him?

"Aye, because I understand exactly what it is you've sent Baldwin to out there." Charles growled, his eyes still intent on Aldrich, who merely shrugged.

"Of course you do, you saw through me because I allowed you to, you've been looking for a way to gain command of your own unit for a while now but haven't found any. Until I presented you with an opportunity that is. You could easily have warned Baldwin or chosen to go in his stead, but you let him leave here knowing the dangers he would be facing out there. You are complacent to whatever tragedy might befall him."

There was no one else in ear short, Aldrich knew this because he had charged Darvin and Damon to stand look out.

Charles didn't say anything for a while; he seemed lost in trying to figure out if Aldrich had any nefarious angle yet. The man was good in battle and was quite ambitious, but he was not very sharp.

"Aye, I could have. But it's quite possible he wouldn't have believed me anyway." Charles finally said, though there was hesitation in his voice.

"True, but also because it was a chance for you to get what you want. But if you're unable to keep Sebast in line, he will turn on you. At the moment Sebast has the numbers here, only he can directly challenge you if or when Baldwin does not return. What you need is the support of Millcar before Sebast scares him into submission." Aldrich did not once raise his voice or allow the mask to slip.

He had to look like he was in control here, that he was better at this than the visibly struggling Charles Horpe.

"Millcar Brockstone is a prideful craven, he will whimper to Sebast before allowing himself to be under my command. No, what I need to do is avoid any conflict with Sebast; the man has the numbers and the positions. He controls the supplies and his lieutenant Davock is the jailor. I need to keep him on my side." Charles stated with a false determination. False because Aldrich knew the man was unsure such a thing could be done.

"True Sebast is not like Olver, he does not desire power as much as he desires independence. And he certainly doesn't have much support. But something tells me that he has more support than you and he would rather be in charge of this whole camp than allow himself to fall in line behind a mere proxy." Aldrich himself supplied, though he chose to omit the fact that Sebast was a man of inaction himself with a unit that had not seen action besides ambushes in far too long.

"Sebast has the numbers, Charles, and you yourself have already said that he also has control of far too much. You will need to strip him of some of that, take from him the ability to damage us all without having to fight us." Aldrich added, making it seem as though an afterthought.

Aldrich was not a schemer or a politician; he knew for certain he would have failed to manipulate any of the other captains. But Charles here was a desperate man. A man who wanted power but now lacked the numbers to secure it. He still had two hundred men, but Sebast had nearly double that and almost triple if he adds Millcar to his fold.

"I start stripping him of his influence and he will turn his men upon me. Only you and I suspect that Baldwin might not return but Sebast might lose the patience that allows him to care. I cannot do what you ask of me, you would have me removed." Charles growled with narrowed eyes and tightened fists. The man was so easy to agitate it was no wonder Baldwin trusted him so easily.

"True, and so that's why you will need numbers on your side as well. Two hundred of your men remain here and I have a hundred and forty with me. Combine the two and we have three-forty. That is more than enough to threaten Sebast who's numbers have been depleting steadily for weeks now. I also believe that there is a way that we can get Millcar to our side or at least ensure that Sebast cannot get him." And here it was: Aldrich's plan lay bare.

"And what do you get from this plan of yours; how do you benefit from me having control of the camp?" Charles demanded.

"I get to have what I'vw wanted from the beginning; I get control of the army. There is nothing in this world that I desire more than recognition. I take command of the army we have here: and that means I get the praise for their success. Of course this might not mean much, but when I close my eyes I see the reaction of my family when they see me march up to their estate with an army behind me. I do not desire anything as much as I desire revenge." Aldrich always found that it helped to tell half-truths when lying.

Charles was contemplating it, the man was looking at his hands with narrowed eyes. He had such obvious tells it was ridiculous.

"You get the army but I have command of the camp, is that it?" Charles finally asked.

"Yes, we will present a united front to everyone and make it clear that I only have command because you gave it to me. We will say that it is because I have faced the enemies we have gathered outside and thus it is I and my men who can best prepare the camp. Should a time come when you no longer want me in charge, you can easily remove me because it was you who gave me my command in the first place." Aldrich explained trying and succeeding in keeping his excitement in check.

"The units of Sebast and Millcar do not respect or appreciate either of them, allow Sebast to retain the control over supplies and remain as the jailor. Millcar is in-charge of the money, but give me their armies and nothing else. It was Baldwin who kept the men from turning on their captains, but if they are ordered by you to accept my command then they will do so gladly. But make it clear that both captains still retain command of their men, I merely train them in the military sense and cannot interfere with the work they do for Sebast or Millcar just as they cannot interfere with mine.

They cannot refuse and risk a revolt from unsatisfied men especially when we have the numbers and experience. They will fall in line, even if they do not like it." And that was the gist of the plan, simple yet effective.

Sebast and Millcar only kept control of their men because the men were loyal to overall command and Baldwin had not wanted to rock the boat. But release them from such bonds and they would gladly flock to Aldrich, who was now the sole favorite since the departure of Baldwin and death of Olver.

Charles said nothing, merely looked at him with those sharp black eyes of his. He did not have to say anything; Aldrich already knew the man would accept.

* * *

Walder Frey sat in his chambers with a migraine threatening to split his head in two. As the Lord Paramount of the Trident, he was supposed to have clear mind, things were supposed to be easy for him now just as they had been for Hoster Tully. He even had a new wife, a young thing that he just couldn't enjoy.

All because of his damn sons. His sons and these Westerlander cubs playing in his field. His sons were incompetent and the Westerlanders were an ambitious lot who looked down on him. How dare they attack his men, how dare they murder his son?

Not only did he lose a son, but he lost three-hundred and ten men. And those that came back were either wounded or craven fools. The only one of the lot who didn't turn out to be a total disappointment was Olyver, but he wasn't too far behind the rest.

Olyver came back with his head held high and in good spirits. The boy began training and marching his men almost as soon as he was dismissed; he spoke to his men in a firm and hard voice, straight backed and head high. He had changed somewhat, there was a confidence in him that had not been there before.

Walder Frey appreciated this. The mission had turned out to be a complete waste of men and time and had been an utter failure, but it at least forged his son and his men into hard soldiers. It had long since been evident to him that Olyver harboured some disdain for the Boltons and the Lannisters, and now he might finally be allowed to harness and eventually sic that hatred on the Westerlanders.

The Bolton men were not to be found, Olyver had reported along with the other survivors. All they found were the Westerlander host waiting for them in ambush.

He heaved a great sigh and finally pushed himself to his feet. Now was as good a time as any. This was something that clearly had to be done, he had to deal with this problem now before it got too big for him.

He could not attack Lannister men directly least he incur the wrath of their patronage, but he could defend his lands from rogue men acting on their own ambitions. And for this he would need a semi-independent force of his that he could trust to defend his lands but also be able to put the blame on should the time for such things come.

He walked through the castle in a brisk pace, or as brisk as he allowed himself at least. He was excited, he hardly felt excitement these days.

He finally had a great plan, and it was paramount that he appoint it before it was too late or one of his idiot sons did something to ruin it all again.

A man was waiting for him at the great doors that lead outside, his tone arms crossed against his chest and his grizzled head high.

The man had grey balding hair and pale skin as though from prolonged exposure to water. His grey beard was cropped to resemble an inverted triangle and his pale blue eyes watched Walder Frey walk towards him resolutely.

This man did not like this plan, but he would do what he was told anyway. He had protested last night but to no avail. He simply had to go along with what he was commanded by his lord.

"Where are they?" Walder enquired as he finally reached him. He did not bother slowing his stride, he merely continued walking in that same brisk pace.

"Already gathered and waiting my lord." The man answered in a gruff voice, his tone clipped and bitter.

Walder Frey did not care for it; he didn't need everyone walking around with smiles on their faces after all. He wasn't happy much himself, so why should the rest of the pebbles be?

"Good good." He replied.

They didn't have to walk far or long, Walder would not have appreciated such a thing.

Two hundred and thirty men waited there, grim faces standing to attention with as much dignity as they could muster. He had originally sent out cowards, old men and little boys before to go with his sons.

Then trained men had gone after and had been wiped out. These two hundred here were those that had questionable ties. They belonged either to houses whose loyalty was dubious, or needed the money and chose this life rather than be beggars on the grounds.

Walder could not afford to keep losing men, but losing these would certainly not be the worst case.

"Follow." His companion bellowed at the rag tag group, and the two hundred did as commanded.

They were pathetic, their march a broken line and he was certain that some of them kept bumping into their companions or stepping on each other. These men would certainly not be missed.

Their destination was an open ground, where his son Olyver presided over his seventy young lads. They were going through some light training of some kind, all holding a small shield in one hand and spear in other.

His son would shout an order and the men would raise their spears to cover their heads and chest, knees crouched as though to brace themselves, then he would shout another and they would thrust their spears with ferocity.

They almost worked in sync, their movements almost as one and the confidence in what they were doing rolled of them in waves. Certainly they were a better than what Walder was bringing with him.

"Olyver!" He called to his son, his tone voicing his irritation. The boy had been so immersed in what he was doing he hadn't heard or seen him coming at all.

The boy jogged over, but not before telling one of the older boys in his squad to take over.

Olyver wore his armour over his body but seemed almost comfortable in it. His other sons had not been overjoyed to see this new fashion of his, they believed he was trying too hard to be a knight or to act superior to them.

The boy merely pointed out that they were in a precarious situation and he just wanted to get used to the weight of armour. Walder had appreciated hearing that.

The boy hungered for conflict, it was evident to anyone who bothered to look at him. He was the perfect man to watch over the Westerlanders, the one person he knew would not be swayed by them in any way.

"These are the men I told you about." Walder informed his son, expecting the boy to look upon them with distaste. But he didn't, instead he seemed pleased to see them.

Normally Walder Frey would never bother himself with such a task, but he had to pretend that this whole thing was important enough for him to take a hand in personally. He needed the boy to have faith and clear any doubts he might harbour.

"You are to train them amongst your men for a week, after that I want you in the road immediately." They had gone over this plan before of course, but it certainly didn't hurt to remind the boy again. He did not breed smart sons after all.

"Do they have a representative?" His son enquired in that excited voice of his. He was young yet, he had a lot to be excited about in life. Walder despised it.

"No, they are newly formed militia. You will have to command as you please." Walder Frey's grizzled companion answered.

The man was the commander of his armies and hated giving out men to the young Frey as much as the older sons did. He did not bother to hide the contempt in his tone nor his eyes. Walder couldn't be bothered by any of it.

"Thank you father, I will not disappoint you." His son declared with a bow, his voice firm with astonishing resolve. Almost enough for Walder Frey to believe in him.

He could have lied to the boy and said he believed in him, but instead he chose to turn around and walk back to the west castle. His sons always found a way to disappoint him.

He had much to do yet, much to think about. Roose Bolton had pulled his men from the Riverlands and had delayed the arrival of his bastard son.

It was possible that the new Warden of the North just wanted to avoid the trouble brewing in the Riverlands, or maybe he'd caught Robb Stark and chose to keep him.

The latter prospect worried Lord Frey the most. He and Roose Bolton had agreed that they would dispose of the deposed King in the North quietly and together. Neither of them could allow the Lannisters to learn that they had failed to kill him.

So if Bolton found the Young Wolf but chose to keep him for himself, then it spelled trouble for Walder Frey and he already had more of that than he needed at the moment.

There was much yet to be done, he had to keep his head in line and solve all his troubles quickly. Perhaps if he found the Black Fish he could hand him over to the Lannisters instead?

So much to do, so little time.

* * *

Olyver tried and failed to keep the self-satisfied grin off his face as he watched his father walk away. Walder Frey was cruel, dishonourable and craven. But he was also cautious and cunning.

So why then did be keep making such stupid mistakes?

The Lord Stranger had said that Walder Frey at the moment has gained too much power too fast, that his mind is still in a high. That he keeps making mistakes because he doesn't yet see a reason to be cautious.

But he would soon. Everything was falling in place in Olyver's side, he now hoped that things were going well for Aldrich as well. He had no doubt that Robb Stark was doing well in his task.

That child-like excitement took him over again as he recalled the plans that had been laid out in the conference room at Oldstones.

If it all went according plan, they work be sailing the narrow seas within two moons. And Olyver would have the honoured position of being second only to The Lord Stranger himself. It was an honour he did not deserve but would strive to do his absolute best in.

The biggest obstacle though would be finding a way to free the prisoners within a week's time. He doubted he could free them all, so maybe only one or two would do. It would be best to free the Northen Lords and send them up to disrupt as much of the Bolton control as they could.

He finally allowed himself to look the new men over. They all stood there staring at him, waiting for his orders though none too enthusiastic about it. These men were not his father's and were not his either. Not yet at least.

They understood that they were here because they were disposable and that hung over them like a foreboding drape. It was Olyver's responsibility to turn that around and make them into something that at least resembled proper men at arms.

They could not to cross the sea with discontented men after all.

* * *

The next chapter will be a little interlude, the one after will skip some time before we get back to some action. I'm thinking that Baldwin's conflict will not be showed but I might show the prison break. Though at the moment I am leaning against it.

As always: **Read and Review**


	11. Chapter 11

As the title says, this chapter is a little fluffy interlude though the events here will obviously play a big part. The story is getting ready to set sail now, just a few more chapters.

**Disclaimer**: Still do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire

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**CHAPTER 11-Interlude: Reunions**

He was lost, long since had he been separated from his path. Weeks of searching had gotten him nowhere and for the life of him he just felt as though he was moving further and further away from his objective.

And thus the empty feeling in his gut increased, the ache of his very being. He was incomplete in ways that very few could understand; he felt a part of him had been ripped out. He was in agony but no matter how much he searched he could not find 'him'.

And so he searched some more. At the moment, he had deviated greatly from what had become his territory. The territory skirted around the borders of all the places 'he' had been, he was hoping that he might catch a whiff of 'him'.

So far no luck. But something was different tonight, something familiar yet so foreign. It was almost like it used to be, the vague presence in his mind sharing his own consciousness without intruding.

He had mistakenly thought this meant 'he' was close, but so far that proved false. And so, his nose on the ground and ears pointed up, he left his perimeters and searched beyond his borders.

The more and further he searched, the more likely he was to find what he was looking for. The more likely he could feel secure and content, he could be whole again. This anguish inside him was unbearable.

There were days he lacked the strength to go on, days when he embraced hunger and chose not to go on the hunt. But then something would happen, something that proved that he had to live.

He was meant to be a best friend, a comrade in arms, a son and a protector. He had failed at all of these, he'd been unable to be by 'his' side when 'he' needed him most. But that would change, never again would he allow himself to be locked away or separated. Even if it meant disobeying orders.

So absorbed in his thoughts and that vague other presence in his mind, that he did not even notice the arrival of other life forms until he heard the growls.

His head rode steadily, calm and collected. He had no reason to fear or panic, he was king here. None in the animals in this land could threaten him, just as the two legs couldn't threaten 'him'.

Surrounding him were lower life forms than he, creatures that resembled him in almost every way besides the fact that they were half his size and some even smaller.

Yet they surrounded him confidently, barring their teeth and their hackles rising. Their blue, brown, green and golden eyes were full of malice. They hated that he dared intrude upon their territory, and were willing to drive him off or kill him.

But he did not fear them, how could he? He who had been the alpha of his siblings? He who had slain more of the two legs than any other? He who they called 'monster'? He did not understand the word completely, by me knew it conveyed the fear the two legs held for him.

So how then could he possibly fear these lower life forms? Mere downgraded copies of his kind?

He exposed one long canine at them, longer, sharper and thicker than any of theirs. It was not meant to be a threat at all, his spirits were just not in it.

At the moment he was feeling that presence in his mind and that's all that mattered. He had to keep searching, surely he would find 'him' again.

He did not have the time nor desire to rip these things apart, he was too busy to waste time taking their lives.

But they did not understand, they took his lack of malice as cowardice perhaps. They thought he feared them. Could they not smell his lack of fear?

The biggest of them, pitch black in colour with reddish golden eyes, stepped forward, barring his teeth with a menacing growl. He was crouched low as though to pounce. But he was no fool, he could feel two others sneak in behind him as this one tried to distract him.

They were not yet in their range of attack, but they were in his. He turned, faster than they had expected, and struck out with a paw. The first of the lower beings, brown with black stripes, was hurled through the air by his powerful blow.

Before the white female could react, he snapped with his teeth and tore an ear off with one bite. Their yelps of pain blended together in the night, but he had already moved again.

Now he stood over the alpha, his large law covering the pathetic beast's chest as he gazed down at it with his head held high. The black lower life form looked up at him with confused terror, no doubt wondering why he hadn't killed it yet.

In answer, he merely moved away from it and put his snout back on the ground. He had proved his point, there was no more need to waste time with them anymore.

He had a master to search for.

He had only taken a single step when a new growl joined the others, this one stronger, pure power and menace radiating off it in vibrations that made his tail stiffen in alarm.

He turned, and behold a beast as large, or close enough to his own. Dark golden eyes regarded him with naked killing intent, the grey fur almost rippling with muscle and rage as it stalked towards him.

It was a female, he could smell that off it. He could also smell the reverent respect that the others had for it, especially as they got over their fright of him and prepared to join her in killing him.

Finally, he let out a growl of his own, exposing as much of his teeth as he could while stretching his lean form to its full height.

He was bigger than her though by only a little. He was confident that he had the advantage in strength and experience. He had spent years fighting battles and killing the two-legs, while she ruled over these weak lower copies uncontested.

But she had numbers on her side. He could deal with her alone, just as he could deal with them as he had demonstrated before. But he was now at a disadvantage.

She moved closer to him, her eyes reading him, her snout barred and sniffing at him. She would register no fear from him, he feared only one thing and his death was not it.

He would take as many of them as he could, including her.

She lunged, and he prepared to meet her with his full force. She had foolishly sprung at him with only minimal force, he could blow her away with his power.

Only, she didn't bite or scratch or slap him. Instead she was licking him all over and rolling on the ground on her back, her belly and neck exposed and her movements excited as a pup. Gone were the growls, now she only whined and yelped in bliss.

He could smell no ill-intent from her, only pure bliss. He was utterly confused, and so were the lower life forms.

She finally stood before him at full height her dark gold eyes regarding his with love and contentment. Only then did he finally understand. Only then did he pounce on her, licking every inch of her fur he could reach. He finally recognized her scent, just as she recognized his.

He pawed at her as she rolled on the ground over and over, only to get up and jump on him before going back on the ground. She had too much energy, always had. It used to overwhelm him but now he found that he could never have asked for anything else from her at the moment.

They came together, their heads brushing against each other affectionately, sharing their scents and opening their minds to each other.

He saw all she wanted to tell him, all she wanted to ask. And he showed her everything as he opened up to her, even sharing the awareness of the presence in his mind and she showed him her own intruder.

The world was lost to them; it was only the two of them there. Together, they shared the memories of their masters, and he consoled her on her anguish over 'her' as she consoled him over his.

She opened her mind and shared the link to the lower copies she now commanded, she was welcoming him to her pack. But not as one of those who followed her, not even as a beta. As an equal, he had once been the leader of their pack after all.

That other presence in his mind was beginning to fade away, but he could feel warmth from it, love and joy. Perhaps this is what it had been leading him to? For now he would bask in this reunion, but he would never stop searching. In time he might even convince her to search for her own as well. He would search with her.

They belonged together, and none would or could ever separate them. He remembered now, remembered what his master had always called him just as he saw her remember her own name.

He was Grey Wind, the companion of the Young Alpha, the King of the Land.

And she was Nymeria, named after a great warrior queen of the two-legs. Just as she had now become a warrior queen of her large pack. And he himself was now lost, without direction. Like the wind.

But they were together now, and he emphasized this by pouncing on her again, knocking her over and nuzzling his head against her belly. She welcomed him with content purrs, she welcomed him into her life.

He would not leave her, and she would not leave him. Together they would find 'him' then they would find 'her'. They would find 'them all'.

* * *

And there you go folks, fluffy interlude as promised.

Next chapter gets the ball rolling, the time grows nearer.

As always: **Read and Review**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: Do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire.

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**CHAPTER 12- Turmoil**

There was a ripple of turmoil in the camp that day. Everything seemed to vibrate at a completely alien velocity, the mere camp itself seemed foreign. The news had not been received well.

And as always, the soldiers were left on their own outside to keep calm and occupy themselves with their daily routines while the leadership had once more gathered for yet another emergency meeting.

Not a single person could claim to be unaffected in the conference room that day, the very atmosphere was strained. They were bothered and some more than a little disturbed and afraid, how could they not be?

Baldwin Abbot was dead.

That was the gist of it; somehow their lord commander had been slain. The man who was meant to lead and hold this place together.

They had received the news early morning, when the remnants of the unit Baldwin had set out with had come stumbling back into camp, defeated and broken.

Six hundred and seventy had set out, yet only twenty returned.

It was absurd, even to Aldrich and he had received a letter from the Lord Stranger even before the men arrived.

Charles had immediately summoned the command structure for a meeting as soon as the men arrived, and so they all set there while five of the survivors reported what they could.

"They caught us at night my lords, we weren't even close to Oldstones yet and then they were there. The commander ordered strong guard be placed around the camp, yet even they were not able to spot or stop the oncoming men." The visibly shaken man stopped to take a gulp of his water, and one of his companions took this as their turn to speak.

"It was like the trees were moving, that is what I saw from where I stood guard in the southern side of the camp. See, the guard here was lightest because it faced the side we had come by, we did not expect any attack from behind.

It was like watching a tree and bushes rush towards us, this huge form covered in leaves and thin branches followed by smaller forms of dark greens. We were afraid, yet we had enough sense to raise alarm. But they were soon upon us, hacking and stabbing and cutting. We finally managed to direct our forces there, but it had all been a cowardly trap." Now the second stopped as well, his eyes closed and his hands hugging his shaking body.

"Just as we were about to slay giant that had been laying waste to us, more of them arrived from all sides. They were wearing Frey and Westerlander armour. At night it became difficult to tell friend from foe, yet they seemed to manage it just fine. We were confused, it was easy enough to battle the Frey men but the ones wearing our colours were mixed in with us before we had a chance to eradicate them.

We couldn't tell friend from foe, yet we still fought well and began to form a barrier around camp. We effectively cut off any more of them to enter while trapping those that had already come amongst us. We were certain we had done well, they had even begun to retreat. We heard them call a retreat, cussing because their plan had failed.

We were celebrating, happy, we even had prisoners. But then everything just went bad. He was dead, Lord Baldwin was somehow dead. Stabbed through the ear from what we could see, one pf them must have snuck up on him. But then we found the body of his hand, Adan Flint as well. Stabbed through the heart." When this man stopped to take a gulp of water as well, Aldrich could hear the sigh of exasperation come from Sebast Samford.

"Steffon, what about Steffon?" Millcar stuttered out, his bulging eyes glassy with unshed tears. The sight seemed to sour Sebast's mood even more.

"He was alive sir, unharmed. We figured that he would have been next had we not repelled them. but then, just as we were mourning the losses and rounding up those we attacked, a man wearing our colours had is knife at Seffon's throat. We didn't see him coming, he was a man that was hard to see unless you were specifically looking at him, and he wore our colours.

Steffon was our last remaining commander, if he died everything would have fallen to chaos. And when he ordered the man not to attack, they returned. With more numbers, some wearing silver armour now too. They surrounded us and a man with red hair ordered us to lay down our arms. Captain Steffon ordered us to as well, ordered us to lay down our arms. We could not say no, we follow commands. Always."

They did not need the men to elaborate further onthat, they all understood. These soliers here had been drafted and sent out to start up this place. There was not as single high born or even a knight here. Only men to follow commands and a structure of five men to give those commands.

So when the last remaining commander they had orders that they lay down their arms, they did as commanded. It was something that The Lord Stranger had been pleased to hear when Aldrich informed him.

This mind-set of always following command was what allowed men to do atrocious deeds and what would allow them to be so easily controlled by Aldrich. Even if it meant they had to fight against other Westerlanders. They were men of Wet Hill and thus their allegiance was to the present commander from Wet Hill.

"So? Did they turn on you and slaughter you while you were unarmed?" Demanded Charles Horpe with bulging veins and blood strewn eyes. it was one thing to know about a trap and allow it to go on, it was another to hear about the aftermath and the deaths to follow.

"No my lord, they merely rounded us up and bound us. They said they would be taking us to Walder Frey as prisoners of war. But…well, the five of us here had remained outside the perimeter where we had been knocked down by the half giant. We sneaked off and galloped back here on our horses as fast as we could. We wanted to make sure we could warn everyone before it was too late." And there it was, the story of Baldwin's fall and Aldrich's rise.

From the letter he had received, Aldrich knew that young Olyver had joined up with the Lord Stranger with four hundred men. That had combined with the Stranger's one hundred and the additional two hundred he claimed to have acquired from a loyal ally. They had outnumbered Baldwin's forces and probably could have wiped them out without the need for trickery and assassinations.

But the Stranger wanted more numbers, and he had laid the groundwork for Aldrich to get those numbers. Time was not on their side now, the plan had to be moved ahead because of the contents of the second letter: Young Olyver had done something rash but brave. And now his father no doubt knew of his true allegiances and they could not afford to dally here in the Riverlands any longer. It was time to go.

* * *

And so, later that day the remaining three captains and Charles Horpe had gathered once more, this time without their aids and the reporting men. It was here that Aldrich had to take hold of the situation and prepare to leave Wet Hill behind for good.

"We cannot allow those men to be delivered to Walder Frey, we have to ride out and stop them." Charles declared with conviction.

"And who is going to ride out? With how many men? Do you suggest we all leave or will it be only you this time?" Sebast asked in a drawl.

"There is no need for him to go out alone, I will be going, and I'm taking as many men as I can." Aldrich put in, his voice much colder and harder than it had ever been amongst these men. He now no longer needed to abide by their rules and dance to their tunes.

Things were changing, he had to leave now. Even if that meant forgoing any form of subtlety.

"Oh, and whose men will you be taking? Only yours, or maybe what remains of Baldwin's force?" Sebast mocked with a derogative smirk on his face, while Charles stared at him with confusion and suspicion in his eyes. Perhaps panic as well. Millcar did not react beyond avoid anyone's gaze, he had already been subjugated to Aldrich's side.

"I am the general of the armies here, I can order them to march whenever and to wherever I want. And I am marching them to rescue our men before Walder Frey starts another big war. If that is allowed to happen, the Riverlords would wipe us all out before additional forces ever arrive." Aldrich replied in a deadly calm voice, staring Sebast right in the eyes.

They did not realize it yet, but there was no need for him to convince them, the army was already formed and ready to head out.

"You can't just take the men without consulting anyone, especially me. Such a decision does not fall only in your hands." Horpe finally put it, perhaps seeing that things were already beginning to slip from his hands and seeing the deception laid bare.

"But I can, you gave me that right and power Charles Horpe. And Sebast and Millcar here allowed it when they didn't wrestle it from me." He stated to them, his hard eyes taking them all in, daring them to challenge him.

Sebast rose to the challenge just as he expected.

"Then we are wrestling it from you now, I refuse to allow you to march my men out of here. I will not allow wharever sick plan you've put into motion to bear fruit Darion" Gone was the smirk, now Sebast knew things were serious and he had to be as well.

"What do you think I am, some king of villain from bed chamber stories? If there was even the smallest chance that you could affect my plans in any negative way, I wouldn't have said anything. The army is already lined up outside awaiting my orders. Damon and Darvin are just outside the door keeping anyone of your own aids from entering and disturbing this meeting.

"I am done with playing house with you all, I am in control now." His declaration was met with silence and wide eyes.

Charles Horpe looked ready to attack him while Sebast seemed to be struggling with organizing his thoughts. Millcar was still avoiding everyone.

Aldrich had already visited the craven man earlier and made sure he understood where everything was going and what his role would be. Or lack thereof.

"I am the commander in this camp, I am…" Charles began, only to be cut off by Aldrich:

"You were the commander, when you had my support and there was a chance that Baldwin or Flint might return. Now that has all changed, you were the most foolish of all Charles, you gave the men outsider what they had wanted for so long. You put them under my command, under someone they can proudly follow. Why would they choose to leave me now?"

Charles' face twisted at the words, and he looked from Millcar to Sebast but received no support there.

"I am still the commander of this camp. You do what I say, I am the lord commander." He raged, his voice finally losing its composure and rising. He looked about ready to spring out of his chair too.

"You were in command because Baldwin left you in charge as his proxy, but he is gone, which means a new leader was to be elected anyhow. And you yourself have no control here, we do not have any none-combatant smallfolk here for you to rule, everyone is a soldier.

You gave the soldiers outside what they have yearned for all along, you made them mine. You allowed Sebast to keep charge of routes in out of the camp and the supplies, along with him being in charge of whatever law and order we have here. Then you allowed Millcar to keep charge of the money. You yourself have no real power here Horpe, what power you had was because of Baldwin's patronage and my assistance. Now you have neither." Aldrich did not enjoy the way the man squirmed, but it was necessary.

What needed saying had ben said, and thus there remained no other reason for Aldrich to stay any longer. He rose to his feet, calm and composed. His gaze held all three of the other men, none of whom could challenge him now. Then, he turned and walked out the door.

None of them had noticed that he never had a glass, that only Sebast and Charles Horpe had actually drunk anything. A part of him had wished that they would grow suspicious and not drink anything, but their removal would serve its purpose anyhow.

* * *

The men marching with him did not realize that they would never return to the camp that had long since faded behind them, they did not realize that they had effectively killed the dream of Wet Hill today, and in the process made themselves enemies of the Crown.

But they would soon, for it was not a rescue mission they were rushing to, it was a planned rendezvous.


	13. Chapter 13

And here is chapter 13, have to apologize because this one was a bit rushed as I wanted to post it this week because I have some work coming up and I might take some time before the next chaopter.

**Disclaimer**: Still do not own GOT or ASOIAF

* * *

**CHAPTER 13- The Snarling Wolf**

Jason Mallister could not contain himself, could not stop himself from pacing up and down in his study. Tonight was the night, when so much would change. When he would put risk on his himself, his men and his house.

In the room with him were five other men, the most loyal he had, and they all knew of the plan and would make the necessary arrangements. If all goes well, it should all pass with minimal bloodshed on his side.

He already had the ships docked and ready to sail, now he just had to wait for the men to arrive to sail them. A part of him desperately wished he could travel along with them, while another wished he could bar his doors and keep Robb Stark out.

But he was a loyal and honourable man, he would not keep out the king he had sworn his oaths to. The one current king he still had any respect for. No, they would be ready and they would do their jobs well, it was just a blessing that the Frey men stationed here were about as incompetent as they come.

It was meant to be a mockery of him, some way to cripple his house by having his men replaced and those that remained watched over by weaker Frey men. Yet after tonight, it was those weak men that would unknowingly assist in clearing his name. It was they who would bear the brunt of sacrifice for the greater good.

He finally moved over to the window facing the gates and put his hands on the frame. He almost thought he could see Robb Stark's small army marching towards him, Harbingers of Chaos. Perhaps if he ever did decide to go ahead with his plan for a sell sword army they might choose to adopt that name.

It was night out, and thus that was how he was able to spot the lamp lights moving towards the town. These past few days the most loyal of his men had been wetting or destroying every lamp they could find outside, especially those at the front gate.

It would all work so much better if the army had to move in the cover of darkness. He finally decided it was time to go outside when the lamp lights stopped in front of the gates.

"It is time!" He declared to his men, and as one, they rose and followed him out. They all knew what to do, each of them have a task that would place great importance in this plan. They could not fail, the consequences would be dire.

* * *

It was almost exhilarating in some ways, knowing that this was all it amounted to. All the hard work and planning was for this moment, it was here that they got to leave this place and escape the reach of their enemies. They had so many enemies.

Robb tried to relax himself as he walked alongside Olyver Frey and Aldrich Darioin, both of whom were doing no better than he was. He could not blame them, the two men had alienated themselves from their homes, capture or failure here would result in their likely deaths.

Especially because of the letters that Robb had sent out. They would arrive days apart, to hide the fact that they were both sent by him. He wished he could be there to see the reactions to them upon their reading.

"Keep calm, everything will go well." He whispered to the two men as the light of the men at the gates finally reached them.

"Just follow the plan, everything will be alright." He assured them; secretly wishing he himself could be so assured himself.

They had decided to take Lon with them as well, though the man walked beside them it was easy to forget his presence. Lonn had done splendidly not too long ago and had proved that he was more than just a mere scout. The men would have many uses yet and he revelled in the recognition he was receiving from his lord.

The four of them advanced until they were just under the gates, and all four of them lifted their heads to stare into the lights.

"Who goes there?" Called a voice from the walls.

"I am Olyver Frey, son of Lord Walder Frey, I am here to speak with Lord Jason Mallister!" Olyver called back in return, his voice firm and commanding. Though he still sounded like a child trying to appear in control.

"And I am Aldrich Darion, Commander of the Westerlander camp of Wet Hill. I too am to have word with the lord of the castle." Aldrich did better than Olyver, he was more used to command and declarations than the boy was.

"And I am Jacksen Snow, son of Jason Mallister. My father has summoned me and I would have word with him." Lonn in a rather underwhelming voice. But Robb had expected it, in fact he had planned on it. A bastard with a weak voice and lacking command was easier to ignore or forget.

"We weren't told of your coming at all, so why would we let you come in here at night?" The voice above the gates called down again.

"Because we bring back with us bandits and two hundred of your own men." Olyver called back in reply, and made a show of gesturing towards Robb and his bound hands.

If the men up there looked behind the group of four, they would see the outlines of people lurking in the darkness. What they could not know or see was that the men behind numbered two thousand. And they were going to let them all in.

"Where are the other bandits? Why do we only see one?" Called down another voicer from the left side of the gates.

"Well forgive us, but we did not think that you would need to see each and every one of the men in order to believe us. You all surely know that two hundred of your numbers had set off before to capture the bandits don't you?" Olyver called back up again. It was necessary that he do the talking, those were Frey men up on those walls after all.

Robb had instructed Lord Mallister to station only the Frey men as garrison, it would give them something to pride themselves in and cloud their judgement.

It also meant that it would not have to be men loyal to the Mallisters that were about to be slaughtered by Robb and his army.

"I'm not so sure that we can or should allow you in, why would you arrive now at night instead of getting here in the morning or daylight?" Called the voice from the right again.

Robb rolled his eyes, the whole exchange was proving to be a rather dull and boring affair. He did not want the bloodshed, but he was looking forward to starting on it because then they could be off and away from this place before it was too late.

Walder Frey no doubt was after them now, they could not afford for word to reach these men before Robb's escape.

"Because we were attacked, Bolton men were assisting the bandits. Damn Northerners have been profiting from the plights of the Riverlands!" Olyver spat in disgust, and Robb could hear murmurs from atop the battlements even from down here.

"Aye, but we are still a little hesitant to allow you in. See, it's only us Frey men up here and we can't just allow anyone to come in and out whenever they want." The voice called down again, followed by muffled laughter from the other men.

"That is why I am here isn't it? I was sent here by my father and I have brought my own men with me. Will you keep us out here? After we captured bandits with the combined work of Frey, Seagard and Wet Hill forces? Do not ruin this moment men, allow us and the bastard of Jason Mallister in." Olyver was growing tired of the whole charade as well, Robb could hear it in his voice.

From where they were Robb heard new sounds arrive at the walls, the shuffling of multiple feet and then a booming voice shouting above all others:

"WHAT ARE YOU DOJNG YOU IDIOTS? THAT IS THE SON OF THE LORD OF SEAGARD, WILL YOU LET THE LIEGE LORD WAIT ANY LONGER?!" Robb smiled at that voice, but was able to lower his head down to hide the smirk.

Perfect timing this was, for surely even the calm and composed Aldrich Darion was tired of the exchange.

They didn't hear much else besides muffled voice and the shuffling of feet, and then the gates slowly swung open.

Robb held his breath anxiously as the creaking gates seemed to move at an alarmingly slow pace. Beyond stood ten men with sword in one hand and shield the other. Robb also knew that there were men up there with arrows and crossbow bolts aimed right at the four of them.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Come in here, but I want all weapons sheathed!" The man at the head of the ten called, his voice easily recognizable as one belonging to the man they had been shouting to before.

The four of them moved cautiously and slowly, secretly slowing their pace so the company behind could move faster to close the gap without having to run. The Seagard men he had brought with him were the next to enter, they all walked on foot and dragged fifty men with them.

The Frey men did not question the whereabouts of the men's horses, they merely allowed them in. once they all entered, they immediately moved to the sides of the gates, leaving the ten Frey soldiers wide open.

"Well, what in the name of the Seven are you doing over there?" The leader demanded, and Robb had to stifle a laugh as he answered the man jubilantly.

"We do not want to be trampled." He answered with a voice full of mirth.

Confusion swept through the ten men, then turned to horror at the sound and sight that they finally registered.

Horses, a horde of horses, galloping straight for the opened gates.

"CLOSE THEM! CLOSE THE GATES NOW!" The leader bellowed furiously at his men, but it was too late.

The Seagard men on the ground easily drew their blades and dispatched of the men that had moved to close the gates. It was quick and bloody, and only took a few seconds.

"TRAITORS! THEY ARE TRAITORS! LOSOSE, LET LOOSE YOUR ARROWS!" The panicked leader bellowed again, this time to the men at the walls.

However:

The sounds of a struggle began immediately, as did the shouts of men, drifting down and washing over them with the chill air of the night.

The Seagard men that had arrived before were now slaughtering the Freys stationed at the walls. There weren't enough of them to kill all the Frey men, but enough to distract them.

The galloping horses broke through the opened gates like a river of muscles and death, every single one of the mounted men wearing full armour.

"Yaaaaa…"

"Yiiieeeeee…"

"Ahhhhh.."

"Noooooo…."

Those were the screams coming from the ten Frey soldiers as they were brutally trampled by a stampede of horses that raced right past them and continued forward into the town.

"My Lord, please follow me!" Called a man as he beckoned them over.

Robb, Aldrich, Olyver and Lonn did not hesitate to follow him.

The Seagard men and new arrivals on foot followed behind as they all ran after the middle aged man that had beckoned them.

"Lord Mallister has bid me to travel with you Your Majesty, I will lead you to the ships." The man informed Robb between puffs of air as he continued his sprint.

Soon, more screams and the general sounds of skirmishes could be heard through the night as the cavalry rampaged through the town. They were to harm and destroy as much as they could, most of the people still outside were Frey men anyhow and the destroyed property could be rebuilt at a later time.

Robb had organized for half the money they had made selling and looting to be transferred to Jason Mallister. He hoped it would be enough to at least lighten the load of the expenses all the damage would cost to fix.

Their guide lead them in paths that would best avoid conflict, though they still ran into a few men here and there but they were rather easy to dispatch when facing Robb's one thousand-seven hundred-and eighty foot soldiers. The mounted men were doing a splendid job causing chaos and forcing the vast attention of the defenders to fall on them and thus away from Robb's group.

* * *

The bell was yet to ring, how could it when enemy ships were yet to be sighted and this attack must have been too much of a surprise? As it was, Jason Mallister assumed that all was going according to plan and Robb Stark would soon arrive with his men.

As it was, the Lord of Seagard stood at the docks with a force of a hundred men, most of whom were Frey soldiers. It was here that they were meant to make a 'last stand' though he himself knew it would not be much of a stand.

This was for show, and he was determined to put up a good one. His very soul felt stained by what was already transpiring and what would come next, but necessary sacrifices had to be made for a better future and for the rightful king.

As it was, he had done his best to limit the deaths if his own men by sending most of his men out of town on errands and having some of those who remained stationed in places that would put them outside the reach of the conflicts.

In their positions he had placed Frey men, something they had delighted in, believing that they had enough control of the castle and town to take up the more important guard positions. Surely now they must realize that they had been badly mistaken, they were nothing more than props for this performance.

He could hear the sounds of running men now, the stamping boots of a company of armoured men running towards him. He knew that the men here with him would most likely be killed or suffer serious injuries at least, and he himself as well.

Robb Stark had been firm in his word that the Lord of Seagard himself would not be killed, to do so might lead to far too many complications. It was thus dangerous for him to be here right now, but he had to play the role as well. And no one would believe it if Jason Mallister stayed in hiding behind closed doors while a company of two thousand rampaged through his town.

He saw the men appear behind a bend and come charging towards them. He could not see the horsemen yet, but the plan had been that they would move at a different route so as to draw the attention away from the infantry men.

The hundred men around the Lord of Seagard drew their swords and shield and braced themselves. They formed a rather weak shield wall, but it was enough to cover the whole causeway. But there were merely one hundred of them against nearly two thousand, it was hopeless.

Jason Mallister moved back, away from the men and his heart ached. It was best that he think of this plan as just another strategy in war, a tactic similar to what Robb Stark had deployed against Tywin and Jaime Lannister.

It did not end up much of a fight, the mixed company smashed into the wall like an avalanche of violence, the behind the first line merely pushed those ahead harder when it looked as though they might be stopped. Swords were drawn and shields clashed against shield as the shield wall struggled fruitlessly to hold their line but slowly they were pushed back and more of their men died for each one they killed.

The situation was finally resolved when the thunderous sounds of hooves against cobbled stones finally reached their ears, and in the face of the oncoming cavalry, the defenders lost their resolve. When the first few men abandoned the line and jumped into the waters, the wall broke and those remaining soon joined their comrades in the water.

Those that remained were slain where they stood.

There was a brief calm, a brief moment of quiet before Robb Stark emerged from the front lines, his bright sword coated in blood as was his grey armour. A silver dire wolf head, maw open in a nasty snarl and the eyes painted red, was carved onto the breastplate of his grey armour.

He had trimmed his beard since Jason last saw him and it neatly hugged his face instead of hiding it. His untamed mop of hair had been groomed and now flowed in loose locks behind his head and down the sides. He was still not completely the Robb Stark he once was, but he certainly did not look like the leader of wild bandits anymore.

"My lord, please step aside, there is no need for you to die here too." Robb Stark called out to him as lord Mallister levelled his sword at the man.

The rest of the company rushed past them towards the ships, but the two lords stayed staring each other down.

"I cannot stop all your men, but I can stop you. I will trade your for my son, the Lannisters will return him to me if I give them you; Robb Stark." Jason Mallister could hear gasps from his men in the ground and those whose heads peaked out of the water.

The secret was out, just as planned. Everything was going so well according to plan that a part of him was afraid. Powerful forces had gathered behind Robb Stark, it was dangerous that he now planned to leave Westeros. But surely the Old Gods have power even in Essos?

"I am sorry my lord, I would like nothing more than to free your son but alas, I best be going now." With that final proclamation, Robb Stark darted forward like a wraith of grey, silver and red. It was no coincidence that he only moved forward after his men had all passed and the defenders had begun to show up in large numbers.

This little fight of theirs had not been planned, but Jason Mallister knew that it has to be a convincing act. However, as the king engaged him, he suddenly realized that he would have to do all he could just to stay alive.

The man opposite him moved like a wild beast, his swords strokes were almost too random and too uncoordinated; as though in untamed mockery of the sword forms everyone else was so used to. The silver sword clashed against his, each time making his arms tingle from the impact. With each swing the Lord of Seagard was pushed back and more than once came close to losing his footing and his head.

He could tell that his opponent was still holding back, each time he slipped through for a kill shot he would restrain himself. But he had done enough already, lord Mallister was covered in cuts and blood while the pain was starting to slow him.

They had only been duelling for a few minutes, yet it felt like hours. The defenders had yet to reach them but the company of two thousand had boarded the ships. That's when Robb Stark's expression changed to that of immense gratitude and apology. Jason Mallister knew what would come now, and he tried his best to show his acceptance of it.

The Young Wolf suddenly increased his pace and strength, and his swings became inch perfect feints. It was as though the man was not feinting at all, but rather changed forms mid strike. It was absurd. Yet effective.

It couldn't have been more than an exchange of only three strikes before Robb's blade pierced his chest. There was no pain at first, only the numbing of his body as he slipped off his feet and his legs gave out.

The deposed King in the North looked down at him with regret, apology and self-loathing. The Lord of Seagard wanted to tell him that it was alright, that this was how it was meant to be, but the words would not leave his lips. With a small nod that only he could have seen, Robb Stark turned and sprinted towards the departing ships and out of Jason Mallister's view.

It didn't matter anyway, the world around him was beginning to dim and his ears were ringing. If this was his death, at least he died a loyal man serving his king and kingdom.

* * *

Seagard grew smaller and smaller in the distance as the men sailed away, no ships left to pursue them. Never before had Robb ever imagined himself traversing this far out on a ship, and a part of hi yearned to go back and face whatever dangers he could. As long as he wasn't too far from home.

Olyver Frey, Aldrich Darion and Dwain Mallery; the man who had let them in and had been appointed leader of the Seagard men they now travelled with. The three men stood not far behind Robb, all of them alternating their eyes between the land they had come from and Robb himself.

He knew that he was not inspiring much confidence in himself at the moment, but he could not bring himself to care. His hands were still stained by the blood of the men he had slain and the blood of Jason Mallister himself.

Robb had waited until the men chasing them were close enough before he stabbed the lord of Seagard. He had done his best to make sure that he did not hit any internal organs, but how could he be so sure that he hadn't?

And so, he was left to pray and plead to the old gods that the men had been quick enough to get their lord to a healer before it was too late. None of this was worth anything if he had to start murdering the lords most loyal to him just for the 'greater good'. He would not repeat the mistake he had made with the Karstarks.

He looked down at the breastplate he wore, where the direwolf of the Starks snarled out at the sea. He and his men had retained whatever cart they captured in the roads and used it to transport what they sold at Free Market. They always kept ten suits of armour and swords whenever they came into their possession while selling off those they did not need. Of course, they only started doing this after everyone had a suit of their own.

Since the last time, they had paid the armourers at the Market to meld others together to create something big enough for Gulf. They had also either paid or promised discount on the armoury they sold if the smiths could paint their armour grey and silver for them.

Robb's was the only one with such a large wolf head, the others also had it but theirs was only over the left shoulder or right. They had been reluctant to start calling themselves Stark men at first, until Robb reminded them that there would be a lot of money to be made at war and as king he would reward them handsomely.

Though he knew that deep down, each of his bandits would remain loyal to him no matter what. The proof of that was the way in which they carried themselves, their pride and integrity. He had given them something they did not have before, and for that they would stick by his side until the end.

The open maws of the snarling wolf on his chest were covered in blood, the blood of the men he had slain in order to get himself and his men on these ships. The wolf would taste more blood yet in the time to come, Robb just hoped that it would only begin once they got backlot Westeros and not at Essos.

Surely Daenerys Stormborn was nothing like her father and would understand the need for this partnership?

* * *

And there is that, yet another one of Robb's plans working to near perfection because of 'divine' interference.

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	14. Chapter 14

Heads up, this chapter will be moving through three different POVs. Also, the timeline for this story is totally different from the show and the books.

Margaery and Joffrey are yet to marry but Sansa and Tyrion have. Daenerys has only recently captured Meereen, perhaps only two months have passed and she is struggling to keep peace and order.

The dragons grow much quicker here, they were as big as little horses when she took Meereen but within the month Drogon went rogue and she had to lock up Viseryon and Rhaegal.

Also, some of the armies will not be accurate to the show or the books, as such each side could have greater or less numbers than the source material.

Another thing, though they won't appear in this chapter, I am going to introduce Aegon and the Golden Company soon. My apologies to those who do not like him. Jon Snow will appear eventually as well, though surely not for a while now.

And Sansa will become capable quite early; the return of her brother will unlock something inside her.

**Disclaimer**: Same as previous disclaimers in previous chapters.

* * *

**CHAPTER 14- Starks are Here!(I)**

The mood in the room was such that few words could describe it. Perhaps the most appropriate is gloom. The atmosphere was dark and the tension was palpable.

How could it not? They had received the letter from Jason Mallister only yesterday, and the news it bore still haunted them. The implications of what he had to say were troubling, possibly disastrous. Even Tyrion could not bring himself to make a witty jest.

"Perhaps it is false; we have no reason to believe the word of this man. He remains yet a Tully loyalist, a traitor to the crown." Wheezed Grandmaster Purcell indignantly, but Tyrion paid him no heed, neither did Tywin.

"I'm afraid it is true my lords, I myself only received word just recently. Robb Stark marched a company of two thousand through Seagard before absconding with ships, no one knows to where." Varys supplied in that sweet tone of his. If Tyrion didn't know any better, he would think the man was amused.

But if he was then he was doing a splendid job to hide it, it would be unwise to show such disrespect in the presence of Tywin Lannister.

Robb Stark, it was a name that still clung on to haunt the Westerlands, one the Lannisters had done their best to stain and eventually remove from history books. Yet, now it had come back. Robb Stark had come back. Tywin's abhorrent act at the Red Wedding had only mostly worked, but not completely. The Young Wolf yet lived to haunt them once more.

"Two thousand is nothing, my lord. That is why he has fled, he knows he cannot fight us. We need not worry about some upstart northern lord. His armies are destroyed, the Riverlands are under the control of the Freys and his beloved North is in the hands of the Boltons. He is finished." Lord Mace Tyrell boasted with puffed up cheeks and chest, and Tyrion had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Robb Stark never lost a single battle, he ravaged whatever opposition he faced and pillaged the Westerlands. The smallfolk loved him, they chanted his name and told stories about him. Bards composed songs about the gallant Young Wolf, riding south to free his sisters and achieve justice for his father. We had to make unsavoury alliances and plans just to get rid of him, and yet he still clung to life.

"This is a nightmare, Lord Tyrell. We have made the Young Wolf even more legendary than he was supposed to be, the smallfolk will soon be worshiping him at the alter at this point." Tyrion finally put in, and he completely ignored the glare that his sister levelled at him.

"Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Let the smallfolk sing and dance to whatever they want, it matters not to us how they entertain themselves." She sneered at him, as though he had said something absurd and stupid.

"Aye, that is true. But now you realize that the Lannisters have failed, don't you dear sister? We could not defeat the Young Wolf in battle and had to literally have his own men stab him in the back just to stop him. And that was not enough.

"With each battle he won, each castle he sacked, Robb Stark showed that the Lannisters are not absolute, that we are not invincible. And yet we still put him down, we had to stain ourselves just to stop him and prove our might. But now it seems even that did not work, our dark deeds did not kill the Young Wolf. His existence is not merely beneficial to the amusement of the smallfolk, it diminishes our view in the eyes of other houses as well. We are the Lions who cannot kill a mere wolf, a young wolf at that." Tyrion shot back as calmly as he could, though he did not bother to hide his own condescending tone.

"The failure of his death is not ours to bear, it is the fault of Walder Frey and Roose Bolton. It is they who could not kill the man even when they had him under their roof and unarmed and drunk. The Lannisters are still absolute. We threw Stannis Baratheon back into the sea and we destroyed Robb Stark." She argued back, and it was all he could do not to walk around the table and slap her out of her chair.

"And who gave them the idea for this? Who gave them their support and benefitted just as much as they? We defeated Stannis with the aid of the Tyrells but could not kill him. The Stormlands still refuse to accept Joffrey as one of their own and Stannis is still in the wind. No one knows where he is or what he is doing.

"And now Robb Stark has somehow managed to raise two thousand men and stole ships to sail them. He can bid his time, pillaging our coasts all the while waiting for houses to rise to his cause. Our two greatest enemies are out there and we do not know how to find them or how to stop them." Tyrion was growing tired of this conversation, so much so that he finally relented and downed his mug.

"My little birds inform me that Stark's company is made up of Freys, Westerlanders, Seagard men and bandits. It seems that he has collected numbers wherever and however he could. It is a rag tag group that could fall apart at any moment." Varys put in before Cersei could argue back again.

"Jason Mallister claims that he intended to trade his bastard son with the one we have, only to learn that the boy had discovered Robb Stark and swayed some of his father's men to his side. Olyver Frey had once been the trusted squire of Robb Stark and has now converted some of his father's men to pledge themselves to Robb Stark. The Westerlander host we left in the Riverlands for reasons yet to be determined decided that it would be better to fight alongside the Young Wolf rather than serve us.

"I don't know about you, but this all sounds like a tight group united by a powerful figure that knows how to keep them. We cannot expect Robb Stark to make the same mistakes again, we must crush him now before he gains his old strength back." Silence reigned after Tyrion's impassioned speech, every one of them clearly agreeing with him. Maybe not Mace Tyrell or Purcell or Cersei though.

"The only armies Robb Stark can raise to his side are from the North or the Riverlands. It is admirable that he managed to raise two thousand, but that is a mere whisper compared to what we have. Boltons hold the North and the Freys hold the Riverlands. He cannot and will not get any support there, and so he is cut off. Nor can he afford to hire sell swords to work for him, he is no threat." Tywin finally put in in his deep vice, capturing everyone's attention and holding it.

No one argued with him, though Tyrion himself very much wanted to.

"As long as we do our best to find him, to always have an eye on him. We underestimated the Young far too much in the past father and it cost us. Lions maw down any threat they perceive, they do not allow it to ravage their territories and threaten their bounty. We best remember that." And that was all that was said about the topic, then things had to move on. It seemed no one but Tyrion wanted to spend too much time discussing this threat, though he knew that they all worried about it. The sensible ones anyway.

"On other news, I have received reports from across the Narrow Sea. Jorah Mormont has left my service and will no longer report on the Daenerys Targaryen." Varys said.

"This was of course not troubling at all; I have others keeping an eye on the girl, but Jorah had a position that was ever beneficial."

"We need not worry about that right now either, fist we secure Westeros and establish the order and peace we deserve, then we can look out across the sea." Tywin replied calmly.

"Indeed my lord, but perhaps we might want to pay attention to the fact that she not only secured the services of the Second Sons and the fabled Unsullied, but now Ser Barristan Selmy has joined her side as well. She has used these forces to secure the city of Meereen, the people there worship her as a goddess." This finally got everyone's attention.

"How many men does she possess?" Tyrion asked.

"The Seconds Sons number three thousand, and the Unsullied fifteen, though only eight-thousand of those are battle-tested veterans, the rest are still undergoing their training. It is a powerful force, though lacking in numbers. But still, she has enough to threaten at least one of our kingdoms should she decide to sail." This was troubling news indeed for Tyrion.

"Her best place to land in would be Dragonstone, either than that I do not see her ever threatening any of the kingdoms. They would never accept her and would fight to the last man to defend themselves against a Targaryen invasion. She would deplete her numbers greatly long before engaging us. She is no threat; let her remain playing with her sandcastles." Tywin replied dismissively again, and Tyrion felt his own ire rise at his father's confidence.

It seemed that Varys was disturbed as well, for he added as though for dramatic effect:

"And her dragons of course, I have reports that the three of them grow at an alarming rate. She used them to take the city with minimal losses; they are now as big as horses and can already burn stone."

Dragons, the main reasons why Aegon Targaryen had managed to subjugate the independent kingdoms centuries back. Would Westeros be facing yet another Targaryen invasion with dragons? They barely managed to hold out against Robb Stark, how would they fair against an army with three dragons and possibly a fleet of ships?

"Dragons do not win wars Lord Varys, men do. And we have enough men to smother Daenerys Targaryen five times over. And if her dragons do grow, then we can rest assured that they might just turn on her just as likely as there are to fly her across the sea. No, we keep our forces here and we consolidate peace."

And that was as far as the topic went, before they had to move on to other things, like the wedding, laws and finances. Things that Tyrion could not bother with at the moment, he had other worries in mind.

* * *

Sansa sat on a lonely chair overlooking her room's barred window. Though she preferred to think of it as her prison cell, what else to you call a place you cannot leave unless given permission and escort? It was at least better than what her father had been given, and for that she would not moan or cry.

Oh how she missed him though, her father could always make her feel safe and protected. Whenever she had night terrors when she was young it was her father that she ran to, it was only he that could convince her to return to bed. Though sometimes he would have to stay with her in her room until she fell asleep again.

And how had she repaid his love? By betraying him, by siding with monsters over him. Right now she had an irrational envy for the time Arya spent with him while Sansa was out being wooed by Cersei and Joffrey. But there were a lot of things she had to regret in her short life, her role in her father's death would always remain as the worst of all.

She would kill herself any time, surely death was better than the torment she was forced to endure here. But her father had chosen to dishonour himself and lie, to sully his name just to keep her alive. To kill herself now would be the ultimate betrayal to him; it would mean the end of the Stark name. She could allow that.

Well, it would have meant the end of the Stark name two days ago, but now there was another.

She clutched the blanket she was sewing against her chest and willed herself not to cry. It was like the black hole that had resided over her heart was once more filling with light. She was not alone anymore, she still had family out there, someone she loved and in turn loved her unconditionally.

With their father, mother, Bran, Rickon and mostly likely Arya dead, Sansa and now Robb were the last of their kind. The pack Alpha was now left alone with the whimpering bitch who had so willingly betrayed them and had part in the destruction of their pack.

There was also Jon of course, Jon whom she had treated unfairly because her mother did too. Jon whom she missed just as much as she missed the others and would do anything to see him again, anything to hug her brothers. But did Jon care about her? Why would he, when she had been so vile to him? He was at the Wall now, secluded away from all this strife and suffering of their family, but he was still a member of the pack as well. Three remained in their pack, not two.

Oh how she hated herself, certainly more so than she hated the Lannisters.

"It will certainly do no good to cry now my lady." A soft voice said next to her. She merely turned her head and allowed a fake sweetly smile to spread her lips. Smiling felt so painful, but she would endure the pain.

"You startled me lord Tyrion." She replied to him in a prim and proper voice, the perfect picture of a high born lady. Minus the tears she would not wipe away, let them see. She did not care. Robb was out there, Robb would come and destroy them all.

"Yet you did not jump, or squeal, or scream nor startle. You hardly react to anything at all these days. Do not let them break you my lady; don't let them turn you into an empty husk. They are not worth it." Again he spoke softly to her, kindly, even sadly. He always was kind to her, always concerned. He was the only Lannister and the only man she did not loathe now that Sandor was gone.

"I don't know what you mean my lord, these are tears of joy. The Queen-mother informed me that I would be spending the day in her company tomorrow, there is no greater honour." Again her voice was proper and sweet, but she saw him wince slightly at her words.

It was a small wince, a small narrowing of his eyes and a miniscule downward curve of his lips. But she saw it, she perceived a lot these days.

"Yes, and as saddening as it is to admit, she might actually be better company than Joffrey." He replied to her an attempt at a joke, and she allowed a small giggle. Completely false of course and she knew he was not fooled, but she found she did not want to fool him. Not yet at least. Let him get comfortable, let him think he knew her well.

"The king is ever gracious and kind my lord, we could not hope for a more benevolent man to watch over us all." It was a game between the two of them now, this little dance of pointless lies and fluttery words. He wanted her to open up, to not lose herself. He did not understand that the Sansa Stark she once was had perished with her parents and siblings, she was someone else now. she just did not know who yet.

"Yes yes, would you believe that I saw His Excellency liberate a small kitten from the tortures of life just recently? The cries it made were no doubt joy from seeing its blood pool around it. How many of us can have such honour in life?" He did not bother to hide his snark and sarcasm as he spoke, this was a game but each of them played with their own rules.

"Then that kitten was in luck indeed, so many of us wish for His Majesty's mercy. Lady Margaery is a lucky woman who has been blessed by the gods." Blessed by the gods whom she no doubt wronged in some way. Now she would suffer their wrathful punishment, she would find that out soon enough.

"Such is the will of the gods, they free one lady from a life time of horrors and throw another in as a replacement. Their only kindness to this world is that they made my nephew as dumb as hair in a box." That they had of course, Sansa shuddered to think what Joffrey might be if he had inherited his grandfather's mind. Or his uncle's.

"His Majesty is a wise man beyond his years my lord husband, he has ideas that will surely live on through the history books. His name will be mentioned among other kings such as he." This was the only way she could criticise Joffrey without outright saying anything bad about him.

For the dim witted she was saying nothing but praise, but Tyrion no doubt saw right through it. As such, he finally smiled at her, seemingly pleased. He wanted her to say something against the boy king, to show that she was not completely broken. She only allowed herself to just to appease him and allow her the peace and solitude she so coveted.

She watched him leave a short time later, her husband who did not share her chambers and had never been on her sheets. The only man she did not loathe in this nest of snakes, the only person she would not enjoy watching Robb tear apart.

There was no doubt in her mind now, Robb would come for her, and he would destroy these things that called themselves highborn. For so long she had found her faith broken, her mind split between the Old Gods and the Seven, yet her heart believing in neither. But now she knew; now she understood. The Old Gods were real, and her brother was their avatar. Their champion. These southern snakes with their roses and wines and servants to fan their faces would weep when the winter came for them.

And she would do whatever she can to help him, she would be the sweet little thing whenever they wanted, but inside she was ice. No, colder than ice. Winter is coming; the Lannisters and the Tyrells are corpses who have not yet realized it.

* * *

Daenerys Stormborn sat at a large table with papers strewn around her. She always wanted them kept organized and in order, but perhaps her one great weakness was that she just could never manage to organize papers. She had people who could do all this for her of course, people who all but begged her to allow them to serve her in such a way. But what kind of queen would she be if she could not even look over papers?

There was a pattern to all the reports, a downward spiral that she detested but was struggling to solve. Meereen was proving to be the hardest of the cities to control. Most of the troubles in Yunkai and Astapor had only begun after she left, yet in Meereen trouble brewed while she still resided over the city.

There was a continued shortage of food and finances, the tax on her trades were more than what the masters had dealt with. And she did not have a steady source to support her economy now that she had become an enemy of nearly every Good Master in Essos.

And now there was more, deaths in her city. Murders of freed slaves and even her Unsullied. It was bad enough that Drogon had decided to leave the nest on his own and she had to lock up her remaining children, now she was facing the possibility of mass murders and anarchy.

Once she had been under the delusion that conquering was the easiest part of a reign, but now she knew better. It was easier to conquer than it was to rule, and that realisation disturbed her. She would not allow herself to become a mere conqueror who cannot even secure her own city. She would not become Robert Baratheon.

The Seven Kingdoms would never accept such a queen. Though her plans for Westeros were at a delay now that her dragons had proved themselves so unpredictable.

Just then, an urgent knock on her door brought her out of her musings and momentarily allowed her reprieve from the papers.

"My Queen, Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont have brought a shaky and exhausted man with them. Should we allow them in?" The one who asked this was her aid and best friend; Missandei. Though what the girl had been doing lounging around outside the door was beyond her.

Daenerys had allowed the woman some free time, told her to enjoy herself without sticking by Daenerys' side all the time. But it seemed that only meant going as far as outside the door for the dark skinned girl.

"Yes, please bring them in." She replied kindly, though she wanted to roll her eyes. She did not want a fanatic, she already endured that from what remained of her Khalassar.

The two Westerosi knights walked in with that deadly air they both possessed, each man obviously doing their best to avoid the gaze of the other without obviously seeming to. They did not yet like nor trust one another, something that would have to change in time though not any time soon it seemed.

Behind them walked another man, this one shorter than them, younger and his tan skin covered in sweat.

The two knights bowed their heads respectfully to her; she would not allow them to grovel before her every time they came into her presence. The new man did not have that privilege however, and he quickly fell to his knees with his head hitting the floor. Daenerys did her best not to wince at the sound.

"This man and two others came running to us Khaleessi, all three of them looked as though they had run for hours, and they all said they had urgent news to report, news that you had to hear." Jorah reported to her calmly and perhaps even smugly, his eyes did flicker over to his companion briefly before returning to her.

Ser Barristan Selmy had made his way to her side as soon as he arrived in Essos, but Jorah Mormont had been with her from the start and it was he who was closest to her. Even his revelation had done little to diminish that. None had served her as well or advised as well as he had.

"And what's so urgent that they had to report?" Her voice was pleasant, welcoming, and benevolent. She had long perfected the regal baring of a queen, and queens did not show curiosity or panic in front of their subjects no matter how they felt inside.

"Ships have been spotted entering the bay my lady, three of them. Warships, no doubt carrying armed men on-board." Barristan replied calmly. He may as well have informed her that they found a toy ship floating in the beach.

"The Masters?" She asked just as composed as they were, she would not panic. Certainly not over three warships. Her men could bloody the waters with whatever miniscule force came from that.

"At first the men thought so my lady, until they saw the sails. The ships have not yet docked; they remained just in sight but have not approached. But even from that far the pictures on the sails were easy to spot." Jorah Mormont reported vaguely, if perhaps a little peeved himself.

It was only now that Daenerys realised that both men were disturbed, though Mormont more so. It worried her more than she would ever admit.

"And? Stop being so dramatic and spit it out. What did they see on those sails?" Perhaps if it was only the four of them she might have raised her voice to show her impatience, but the exhausted man was still in their presence and she had to be the perfect queen here.

"Snarling dire-wolf heads My Queen, grey heads on a white and green background. Starks are here!"

* * *

And there you go, hope you enjoyed. Reminder, the timeline is very different from, source material.


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